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«V- 


Borrowed  Plumes 


By  Owen  Seaman 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BAYS 

Fourth  Edition.     i6mo.     $i.oo  net. 

"  Mr.  Owen  Seaman  is  one  of  the  very  few  followers  of  Calverley 
who  are  really  worthy  of  that  matchk-ss  master.  ...  A  brilliant 
parodist.  .  .  .  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  this  book,  we  had 
almost  said  not  a  dull  line.  .  .  .  There  is  much  more  which  it  is 
tempting-  to  transfer  to  this  place,  but  we  will  merely  point  out  the 
penetrating  satire  of  the  lines  '  I'o  a  Boy-Poet  of  the  Decadence,' 
the  excruciating  bombast  of  the  epistles  to  and  from  Kaiser  Wil- 
helm,  the  delicious  fun  of  '  The  Rhyme  of  the  Kipperling,'  and 
the  fresh,  elastic  style  of  every  <  ne  of  the  rhymes  from  the  first 
page  to  the  last.  In  its  field,  '  The  Battle  of  the  Bays '  will  be  a 
classic." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  The  best  of  all  living  parodists  is  Owen  Seaman.  Some  of  its 
practitioners,  like  Calverley,  brought  it  to  a  high  state  of  perfec- 
tion. But  there  are  judicious  critics  who  accord  the  contempo- 
rary parodist  a  higher  place  than  the  man  who  was  apparently  his 
master." — Fh Hadelphia  Fress. 

"  A  volume  of  cleverer  poetic  parodies  or  of  more  humorous 
verse  in  general  than  Mr.  Owen  Seaman's  '  Battle  of  the  Bays ' 
has  not  come  my  way  for  many  a  day.  .  .  .  They  positively  bub- 
ble with  the  most  unexpected  fun." — Mr.  //.  D.  TraiU  i?t  The 
Graph  ic, 

IN  CAP  AND  BELLS 

Fourth  Edition.     i6mo.     §i.oo  net. 

"  Clean  laughter  and  scholarly  wit  ;  polished  metre  and  humor- 
ous phrase.  He  who  will  look  elsewhere  for  the  combination  of 
these  qualities  in  modern  contemporary  verse  must  look  far  ere  he 
find  them.  .  .  .  Books  that  no  melancholy  man  should  be  with- 
out."— li[r.   Theodore  Cook  in  Literature. 

"  Here  is  no  shouting,  no  banging  of  the  bauble.  The  form  of 
phrase,  the  inflexion  of  voice,  the  dancing  light  of  humor,  make 
up  the  motley  which  is  the  true  ester's  "only  wear";  and  under 
his  flashes  of  merriment  is  a  sober,  sound  philosophy.  This,  after 
all,  is  the  only  kind  of  humor  that  lasts  ...  it  is  easy  to  appreci- 
ate, difficult  to  acquire  ;  and  Mr.  Owen  Seaman,  having  acquired 
it  with  all  the  felicity  of  good  humor  and  art,  stands  practically 
alone  among  the  humorists  of  the  hour.  .  .  .  His  technical  quality 
seems  to  strengthen  with  every  new  volume." — IMr.  Arthur 
IVaugh  in  The  St.  James  Gazette. 

JOHN  LANE,  LONDON  AND  NEW  YORK 


.Borrowed  Plumes 


By 

Owen   Seaman 

Author  of  "  The  Battle  of  the  Bays'' ;  "In  Cap 
and  Bells"  I  ^^  Horace  at  Cambridge,"  etc. 


New  York 

Henry    Holt   and    Company 

1902 


Copyright,  1902, 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  CO. 
Published  September,    igo2. 


TO 

THE    AUTHORS, 

MANY  OF  THEM    MY   FRIENDS, 

WHOSE   METHODS   I   HAVE   HERE  ATTEMPTED 

TO   IMITATE; 

AND,    IN    PARTICULAR,   TO 

PEARL  MARY-TERESA  CRAIGIE. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I.      THE  TWO  ELIZABETHS 1 

II.  "  JOHN  OLIVER  HOBBES  "  (MRS.  CRAIGIE).  .  17 

III.  MISS   ELLEN   THORNEYCROPT  FOWLER 32 

IV.  AN  ENGLISHWOMAN'S  LOVE-LETTERS 43 

V.     MR.   HALL  CAINE 59 

VI.     MISS  MARIE  CORELLI 82 

Vn.      MR.    DOOLEY 89 

VIII.      MR.    HENRY   HARLAND 95 

IX.      MR.   MAURICE    HEWLETT 106 

X.      MR.   GEORGE   MEREDITH 117 

XI.      SIR  JOHN   LUBBOCK    (LORD  AVEBURY) 126 

XII.      MRS.    HUMPHRY  WARD 132 

XIII.  MR.    W.    E.   HENLEY 145 

XIV.  MR.    HENRY  JAMES 153 


vi  Contents 


PAGE 

XV.      M.  MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 172 

XVI.      MR.   G.  BERNARD  SHAW 179 

XVII.      MR.  STEPHEN   PHILLIPS 189 

XVUI,      MR.  HENRY   SETON  MERRIMAN 192 

XrX.      MR.  ANDREW  LANG 195 

XX.      MR.  GEORGE  MOORE 197 

XXI.      MRS.  MEYNELL 201 

XXII.      MR.    WILLIAM  WATSON 203 


BORROWED    PLUMES. 
I. 

THE  TWO  ELIZABETHS. 

[With  acknozvledgments  to  the  respective 
Authors  of  those  popular  ivorks,  "  Eliz- 
abeth  and  her  German  Garden "  and 
"  The  Visits  of  Elisabeth."  It  zvill  be 
seen  that  extracts  from  the  former's 
Diary  and  from  the  latter's  Letters  are 
given  alternately,  the  younger  Elisa- 
beth being  supposed  to  arrive  on  a  visit 
to  the  elder  Elisabeth  about  the  /th  of 
the  month.] 

March  ist. — I  am  writing*  this  in  my 
dear  garden  with  the  thermometer  at  fifteen 
below  zero  Centig'rade.  A  tumultuous 
North-wind,  with  a  kiss  of  East  in  it,  is 
blowing  straight  off  the  Baltic,  bringing  up 
faint    delicious    odours    of    sea-icicles    and 


t  Borrowed  Plumes 

frozen  Finn.  I  like  these  better  than  the 
smell  of  hyacinths,  which  seems  to  me  too 
assertive.  I  often  ask  myself  what  order  of 
mind  it  is  that  prefers  new  spring  dresses 
and  a  town-flat  to  precious  solitude  and  com- 
munion with  a  botanical  dictionary.  I  open 
my  treasure  at  random  and  read :  Galan- 
thus,  Gale,  Galeobdoloti,  Galcopsis,  Galin- 
gale,  Gardenia,  Garlic,  Gastridiuni.  I  shall 
send  for  whole  trucks  of  these  and  have 
them  planted  in  masses  all  over  the  carriage- 
drive.  I  W'ish  I  were  less  ignorant  about 
their  symptoms,  but  I  cannot  trust  to  the 
gardener,  whose  imagination  does  not  rise 
above  artichokes,  which  he  talks  of  training 
up  the  sun-dial. 

What  a  lovely  solitary  February  it  has 
been,  with  the  virgin  snow^  up  to  the  bed- 
room windows  and  the  crocuses  waiting 
their  time,  all  snug  and  warm  under  their 
eider-down  quilt.  As  I  look  back  to  the  day 
when  I  married  the  Man  of  War,  with  a 
cheerful  carelessness  of  consequences,  and 
no  guarantee  of  a  garden  at  all,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  his  constant  company,  I  wonder  at 
my  temerity.   But  it  has  worked  out  admira- 


The  Two  Elizabeths  3 

bly;  and  surely  there  are  few  women  who 
can  enjoy  their  husband's  absence  with  such 
pure  dehght,  and  yet  tolerate  his  presence 
with  such  equanimity. 

And  now  Eleanor  Lovelace  must  needs 
ask  for  her  girl  Elizabeth  to  pay  me  a  visit 
for  the  sake  of  her  German.  I  do  hope  she 
will  not  be  too  exacting  and  want  society 
and  tea-parties.  The  only  rule  of  hospitality 
which  I  really  understand  is  the  one  about 
speeding  the  parting  guest.  However,  I 
hear  she  is  very  innocent  and  ingenue  and 
so  she  ought  to  be  fond  of  flowers.  She 
may  even  have  a  soul,  and  be  able  to  talk 
about  the  easier  poets. 

5TH. — Chateau  Cliasse-Bebe.  Dearest 
Mamma, — I  leave  here  to-morrow.  I  wish 
I  hadn't  got  to  stay  with  Grafin  Elizabeth, 
I  know  they  won't  any  of  them  have  waists, 
except  the  men,  and  they  eat  their  food  even 
worse  than  the  French,  and  can't  say  nice 
things  to  make  up  for  it.  Still,  it's  time  I 
left  here  anyway.  Some  of  the  men  are  so 
absent-minded,  and  keep  on  proposing  to  me 
in  the  billiard-room  (not  the  English  kind. 


4  Borrowed  Plumes 

you  know),  and  whole  heaps  of  the  99th 
Chasseurs  have  pinched  me  in  corridors  and 
places,  and  I  don't  think  this  is  quite  respect- 
ful, do  you,  Mamma?  And  it  is  so  awk- 
ward, because  Celestine  notices  the  marks  on 
my  arms  when  she  is  drying  me  after  my 
tub,  and  this  makes  her  very  patronising  and 
hinty,  and  the  stuffing  I  put  into  my  bed- 
room key-hole  because  of  the  draught  keeps 
falling  out,  I  can't  think  why.  Two  duels 
have  been  fought  for  some  reason  or  other,  I 
don't  know  what,  in  the  deer-park  and  one  in 
the  middle  of  a  steeplechase.  Nobody  was 
hurt,  of  course,  but  it  makes  people  look 
awfully  sheepish,  and  I'm  sure  it's  time  I 
left.  I  am  picking  up  some  new  gowns 
from  Rosalie's  to  astonish  the  Fatherland, 
though  I  don't  know  what  the  nearest  gar- 
rison town  is  or  whether  they  have  fleets 
and  things  on  the  sea  there,  and  goodnight, 
dear  Mamma, 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

Elizabeth. 

8th. — I  have  hardly  had  time  to  discover 
whether  Elizabeth  has  a  soul,  but  her  dinner- 


The  Two  Elizabeths  5 

gown  and  general  attitude  do  not  encourage 
this  hope.  I  am  a  Httle  afraid  that  she  ex- 
pected a  house-party,  or  at  least  an  officer  or 
two  to  take  her  in.  I  may  be  obliged  to  send 
for  the  Man  of  War  to  amuse  her.  It  sounds 
improbable,  but  in  his  heavy  negative  way 
he  likes  a  young  girl  without  ideas  or  yearn- 
ing intelligence. 

One  thing  that  struck  me  as  a  deplorable 
revelation  of  her  character  was  a  remark 
that  she  made  about  some  women  who  bored 
her  ("stuffy  people,"  she  called  them)  on 
one  of  her  visits;  "nothing,"  she  said, 
"  rustled  nicely  when  they  walked,  and  they 
had  no  scent  on.''  Unfortunately  she  allows 
no  such  defect  in  her  own  toilette,  and  the 
scent  she  "  has  on  "  quite  overpowers  the 
pure  fragrance  of  my  snowdrops,  besides 
being  a  detestable  thing  in  itself.  I  even  sigh 
for  the  Man  of  War's  tobacco,  and  look  for- 
ward to  an  afternoon  with  my  artificial 
manures  as  a  corrective. 

I  asked  her  the  usual  question  at  night — 
"You  are  not  afraid  of  sleeping  alone?" 
"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  "I'm  used  to  ghosts; 
there  were  whole  stacks  of  them  at  Norman 


6  Borrowed  Plumes 

Tower  in  the  passages,  and  a  funny  old 
thing  asked  me  to  join  them  and  he  would 
take  care  of  me,  but  I  thought  it  would  be 
such  shivery  work  in  the  middle  of  the 
night."  I  am  afraid  Elizabeth's  mother  is 
not  careful  enough  in  her  choice  of  houses 
for  this  young  person  to  stay  in.  Girls  with 
such  beautifully  childlike  minds  are  often 
too  unsuspecting  of  evil. 

iiTH. — Schloss  Bliimendam.  Dearest 
Mamma, — I  can't  imagine  why  you  sent  me 
here.  It's  been  the  stuffiest  time  I  ever 
had.  I'm  the  whole  house-party  in  myself, 
and  not  a  man  of  any  kind  in  the  place 
except  the  coachman  who's  married  and  the 
gardener  who's  engaged  to  the  cook.  It's 
so  depressing,  and  I  think  Celestine  means 
to  go  out  of  her  mind.  The  Grafin  only  has 
tzuo  dresses,  and  talks  all  day  of  nothing  but 
flowers  and  guano,  and  have  I  read  any  good 
books  lately,  and  of  course  I  haven't,  and  I 
can't  even  think  of  any  names  to  pretend 
with. 

Once  I  thought  something  was  really 
going  to  happen,  when  the  Grafin  said  that 


The  Two  Elizabeths  7 

she  was  looking  forward  excitedly  to  a 
whole  heap  of  teas.  I  should  have  chosen 
dances  myself,  but  teas  are  better  than  noth- 
ing, and  sometimes  you  get  a  stray  man  to 
look  in;  and  then  it  turned  out  that  it  was 
short  for  tea-roses.  Such  dull  things  to  look 
forward  to! 

And  then,  again,  I  never  get  really 
shocked  here.  Oh,  yes,  once  I  was  when 
the  Grafin  said  that  she  hoped  that  a  lot  of 
Rubenses  wouldn't  get  into  Madame  Joseph 
Schwarz's  bed  by  mistake  again  as  they  did 
last  year.  Of  course  I  guessed  that  "  Ru- 
benses "  were  only  pictures,  but  it  did  seem 
rather  muddly  for  Madame  Schwarz  having 
them  actually  in  her  bed,  and  so  many  of 
them  too,  besides  being  very  valuable,  I 
should  think,  and  easily  damaged,  especially 
if  she  is  stout  like  most  German  women  are. 
And  I  wondered  if  Madame  Schwarz  was  a 
visitor  or  just  the  housekeeper ;  and  when  I 
asked  if  they  weren't  taken  out  at  once,  the 
Grafin  said  that  no,  it  was  too  late  and  they 
had  to  keep  them  there  all  the  summer  as  it 
wasn't  safe  to  move  them.  And  then  T 
asked  wasn't  it  very  uncomfortable  for  her 


8  Borrowed  Plumes 

having  to  sleep  on  a  crowd  of  old  oils,  or 
were  they  only  very  little  ones,  and  was 
there  room  for  her  in  the  other  half  of  the 
bed ;  and  it  turned  out  that  it  wasn't  pictures, 
or  a  visitor,  or  a  housekeeper  at  all,  but  just 
the  names  of  different  dwarf-roses ! 

Always  roses  and  things !  I  thought  I 
liked  flowers  till  I  came  here,  though  I  was 
never  good  at  their  names  and  used  to  mix 
up  verbenas  with  scarlet-runners;  but  after 
this  I  know  it  will  take  away  my  appetite 
just  seeing  them  on  a  dinner-table,  and  when 
I  die,  which  I  shall  do  pretty  soon  if  things 
go  on  like  this,  I  hope  they'll  have  a  notice 
put  in  the  paper,  saying,  "  No  flowers, 
please/' 

I  don't  wonder  the  Graf  himself  keeps 
away  from  his  wife.  I  suppose  her  parents 
made  him  marry  her  like  the  poor  Marquis 
at  Chasse-Bebe.  I  really  miss  him  and  the 
Vicomte,  and  if  Lord  Valkop  was  here  now 
I  don't  believe  I  should  smack  him  so  hard 
again,  however  he  behaved,  though  they 
were  rather  forward,  all  of  them,  weren't 
they.  Mamma? 

Later. — Great    news!     The   Grafin   says 


The  Two  Elizabeths  9 

vaguely  that  the  Man-of-War  is  coming 
before  the  month  is  out.  So  perhaps  there 
will  be  a  dance  on  board,  and  anyway  we 
ought  to  see  something  of  the  officers. 
Celestine  is  quite  perking  up  at  the  thought 
of  bosuns  or  whatever  they  call  them  here. 
The  Grafin  speaks  of  the  Man-of-War;  so  I 
suppose  there  isn't  more  than  one  in  the  Ger- 
man Navy.  I  do  hope  there's  no  mistake 
this  time,  and  that  it  won't  turn  out  to  be  a 
new  bulb,  or  something  of  that  sort. 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

Elizabeth. 

15TH. — I  remember  reading  in  a  wise 
book  that  a  fresh  acquaintance  coming 
among  close  friends  is  always  a  bore.  V/ell, 
Elizabeth  is  the  fresh  acquaintance,  and  the 
close  friends  are  myself  and  I,  which  in- 
cludes my  garden  and  my  books.  I  really 
believe  the  babies  dimly  understand,  and  are 
doing  their  best  to  act  as  buffers.  The 
Michaelmas  Goose  baby,  whose  equilibrium 
is  still  unstable,  drags  Elizabeth  about  by 
her  skirts,  singing  lustily  her  favourite  Sun- 
day hymn — "  Some  day  my  earthly  house 


lo  Borrowed  Plumes 

zvill  fall! "  Yesterday,  the  March  Hare 
baby  tried  to  distract  our  visitor  by  an  invi- 
tation to  a  game  of  Adam  and  Eve  in  the 
garden.  "  And  you  shall  pwetend  to  be  Eva, 
if  you  like,  Fraulein  Else,"  she  said,  encour- 
agingly. 

"But  wouldn't  it  be  rather  cold?"  pro- 
tested Elizabeth. 

The  March  Hare  baby,  who  is  much  less 
ingenuous  than  Elizabeth,  grew  red  in  the 
cheeks  and  said,  "  You  keeps  your  fings  on, 
naturlich.     It  looks  properlier." 

"And  how  will  you  do  for  a  serpent?" 
asked  Elizabeth,  whose  nature  is  sadly  reli- 
ant on  the  concrete,  and  cannot  realise  the 
unseen  world. 

"  We'se  got  a  weal  live  snake,"  said  the 
May  Meeting  baby,  "  but  it's  gestuft,  so  you 
won't  be  bited." 

"And  I  will  be  the  Apfel,"  added  the 
March  Hare  baby,  "  and  when  you  eats  me  I 
will  unagree  wiv  you  insides." 

"  But  there  isn't  anybody  to  be  Adam,'' 
said  Elizabeth,  thinking  to  raise  an  insur- 
mountable difficulty. 

The    March    Hare    baby    dealt    with    it 


The  Two  Elizabeths  1 1 

promptly  and  conclusively,  not  without  some 
show  of  pity  for  Elizabeth's  limited  ima- 
gination. "  The  Gartner,  he  will  be  Adam," 
she  said :  "  Adam,  in  Mummy's  story,  was  a 
Gartner,  auch." 

The  principal  roles  being  thus  distributed, 
with  the  other  babies  as  mute  supers  repre- 
senting the  lion  pensive  beside  the  lamb, 
symbols  of  the  peace  of  Eden  about  to  be  so 
rudely  disturbed,  I  was  able  to  retire  to  what 
the  play-bill  would  call  "  Another  glade  in 
Paradise,"  and  talk  in  solitude  with  my 
larches.  But  that  remark  of  Elizabeth's  kept 
preying  on  my  mind — "  There  isn't  anybody 
to  he  Adam!  "  Such  a  want  of  imagination ; 
and  such  a  confession  of  a  woman's  standard 
of  desire  as  popularly  accepted !  I  shall  cer- 
tainly have  to  telegraph  for  the  Man  of  War. 
For  either  he  would  consent  to  be  amused  by 
a  kind  of  humour  that  differs  essentially 
from  mine,  or  else,  if  she  failed  to  win  him 
from  his  iron  mood,  he  would  direct  her 
attention,  with  paralysing  frankness,  to  the 
limited  purpose  served  by  all  women  in  any 
decently  ordered  scheme  of  society. 


12  Borrowed  Plumes 

19TH. — Dearest  Mamma, — You  can't 
think  what  a  dismal  time  I  am  having. 
Some  stodgy  Fraus  have  called,  but  nothing 
in  the  shape  of  a  man.  And  even  then  I 
didn't  count  because  I  wasn't  married  ;  as 
if  one  could  possibly  marry  a  German,  any- 
how. What  an  awful  price  to  pay  for  being 
allowed  into  their  cackling  old  hen  yards  ! 
One  of  the  frumps  was  talking  of  a  French 
girl,  in  Berlin,  whose  engagement  with  a 
German  officer  was  broken  off  because  he 
saw  her  trying  to  climb  on  to  the  top  of  a 
tram-car.  "  Wasn't  it  real  lace,"  I  asked, 
"  or  was  her  ankle  t(30  bulgy  ?  "  All  the 
three  Fraus  turned  round  with  a  jerk  and 
put  up  their  glasses  at  me,  and  then 
looked  at  the  Grafin,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  What  is  this  thing  ?  "  So  the  Grafin  ex- 
plained to  me  that  the  French  girl,  being 
a  foreigner  like  me,  didn't  know  that  the  law 
wouldn't  let  women  ride  on  the  top  of  trams, 
because  it  was  bad  for  morals.  Aren't  they 
funny,  Mamma  ?  I  know  I  should  always 
be  in  prison  or  somewhere  if  I  lived  here  ; 
not  that  it  w^ould  make  much  difference, 
after  beinsf  in  this  house. 


The  Two  Elizabeths  i  3 

I  don't  so  much  mind  the  plain  Hving,  and 
I  could  easily  do  without  stupid  damsons 
and  things  with  my  beef  ;  but  it's  what  she 
calls  the  "  high  thinking  "  that  is  so  difficult. 
Of  course,  I  don't  say  aloud  what  I'm  think- 
ing about,  but  I  know,  by  the  Grafin's  eye, 
that  she  can  always  tell  that  it  isn't  high 
enough.  Don't  be  surprised,  will  you. 
Mamma,  if  I  telegraph  some  day  for  you  to 
write  and  tell  me  to  come  home  ?  The  only 
thing  that  consoles  me  here  is  looking  for- 
ward to  the  Man-of-War  coming.  Mean- 
time I'm  wearing  to  a  thread,  and  Celestine 
talks  of  taking  in  my  waists,  and  I  really 
ought  to  be  as  fat  as  possible  to  please  the 
Man-of-War,  because  they  must  be  used  to 
the  natives  being  podgy.  So  I  shall  go  in 
for  what  they  call  Swine-cutlets  and  Munich 
Beer,  which  are  very  developing. 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

Elizabeth. 

27TH. — I  cannot  pretend  to  be  very  sorry 
that  Elizabeth  has  suddenly  announced  that 
she  has  to  leave  the  day  after  to-morrow  ; 
besides,  I  can  now  wire  to  the  Man  of  War 


14  Borrowed  Plumes 

to  say  that  he  need  not  come  ;  and  so  I  shall 
have  the  pink  silence  of  the  pines  all  to 
myself.  I  really  had  tried  to  improve  her  by 
simple  processes  like  the  sight  of  a  sunset 
through  woods  ;  and  when  I  saw^  a  far-away 
look  in  her  eyes  I  thought  I  w'as  having  a 
certain  success,  till  she  said,  "  I  do  like  that  ; 
I  simply  must  have  a  gown  of  that  shade." 
Failing  here  I  was  not  likely  to  succeed  on 
subtler  points,  such  as  the  alertness  of  tulips 
or  the  stooping  divinity  of  nasturtiums. 

I  think  myself  fortunate  to  have  ^ot  rid  of 
Elizabeth  so  easily.  For  a  big  girl,  she  is 
much  too  aggressively  innocent.  I  always 
suspect  people  of  that  kind  ;  they  seem  like 
Persian  Yellows,  very  plausible  to  the  care- 
less eye,  but  with  strange  crawling  things 
inside  them  when  you  look  closer. 

And  now  to  go  and  dance  with  my  daffo- 
dils ! 

28th. — Dearest  Mamma,  thank  you  for 
answering  my  telegram  so  quickly,  and  tell- 
ing me  I  may  come  home  at  once.  I  will 
explain  why.  Such  a  funny  thing  happened 
four  days  ago.     It  came  out  as  quite  the 


The  Two  Elizabeths  1 5 

most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  the 
Grafin  is  married  to  the  Man-of-War  !  You 
can  guess  how  staggered  I  was,  and  nearly 
choked  over  my  Swine-cutlet,  because  it 
sounded  just  like  a  harem,  or  something  of 
that  sort,  only  the  other  way  about.  I  had 
hardly  breath  enough  to  ask  if  this  was  the 
same  Man-of-War  that  she  was  expecting 
to-morrow,  and  the  Grafin  looked  quite  sur- 
prised and  said  how  could  there  be  more 
than  one  Man-of-War,  and  I  didn't  know 
whether  she  meant  that  the  German  fleet  was 
so  small,  but  anyhow  I  agreed  with  her  that 
one  Man-of-War  was  quite  enough  to  be 
married  to  at  once,  though  I  didn't  say  so. 
And  then  it  struck  me  that  if  they  were  all 
married  to  her,  all  the  officers  I  mean,  there 
would  be  nobody  left  over  for  me,  besides  it 
not  being  quite  nice  for  me  to  stay  in  a 
house  with  a  hostess  married  to  so  many 
people,  though  Celestine  says  it  wouldn''t 
include  the  warrant-officers  ;  but  then  she 
is  so  selfish  and  only  thinks  about  herself. 
And  that's  why  I  sent  you  the  telegram,  and 
please  expect  me  soon  after  this  arrives.  Of 
course,  I  always  said  the  Grafin  was  a  stufify 


1 6  Borrowed  Plumes 

old  bore,  but  I  never  should  have  thought  she 
was  quite  so  wicked.  I  ahnost  wonder  you 
let  me  come  here  at  all,  don't  you,  Mamma  ? 
And  fancy  me  being  afraid  that  the  Man-of- 
War  might  turn  out  to  be  an  innocent  bulb, 
and  I  remain, 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

Elizabeth. 


II. 

"JOHN    OLIVER    HOBBES" 
(Mrs.  Craigie.) 

[Robert  Orange] 

Robert  was  passing  through  that  crisis 
which  is  inevitable  with  those  in  whom  the 
ideals  of  childhood  survive  an  ordered 
scheme  of  ambition.  His  head  was  his 
Party's  ;  but  his  heart  was  in  the  "  King- 
dom under  the  sea,"  Lyonesse  or  another, 
not  in  the  maps.  He  spent  long  hours  of 
vigil  over  Jules  Verne's  Tzventy  Thousand 
Leagues,  in  the  original.  He  almost  per- 
suaded himself  to  join  the  French  navy  and 
invent  another  Nautilus.  It  was  at  this 
period  of  his  career  that  Disraeli  spoke  of 
him  as  "  the  submarine  incorruptible." 

Later  it  became  evident  that  the  Church 
would  claim  her  own,  Depayse  by  arbi- 
trary choice,  his  adopted  name  of  Porridge 

2  17 


1 8  Borrowed  Plumes 

stood  merely  for  the  cooked  article,  the  raw 
material  being  represented  by  his  family 
name  of  Hautemille,  a  stock  unrivalled  in 
antiquity  save  by  the  Confucii  and  the  Tubal- 
Cains;  and  to  the  last,  even  in  intervals 
of  the  most  exalted  abstraction,  he  was  a 
prey  to  poignant  irritation  when  the  comic 
journals  (ever  ready  to  play  upon  proper 
names)  anglicized  it  phonetically  as  Hoat- 
meal.  He  repeated  the  CJiaiisoii  de  Roland 
verbatim  every  night  in  bed.  But  the  no- 
blest portion  of  him  was  wrought  of  bronze 
(or  else  putty)  Latinity.  His  brain  reeled 
to  the  lilt  of  the  rhyming  Fathers.  He 
would  himself  compose  even  secular  verse  In 
this  medium.  A  post-mortem  examination 
of  his  portfolios  brought  to  light  the  follow- 
ing brochure  : 

Da  me,  Carole  *  infugam  ; 
Te  sequente,  prcscedam 
Usque  ad  ecclesiani 

^  ;>;  jjs  4: 

"  I  will  never  believe,"  said  Poubaba 
(speaking  in  fluent  Dutch,  but  with  a 
Siberian  accent  which  betrayed  his  Trans- 

*  Dare  we  trace  in  this  the  original  of  that  justly  popular  song, 
"  Chase  me,  Charlie  "  i 


**  John  Oliver  Hobbes"        19 

Ural  habit  of  thought — his  parentage  was 
Levantine,  with  a  Maltese  cross  on  the 
mother's  side,  and  he  himself  a  reputed 
traveller  in  Swedisli  liqueurs),  "  I  will  never 
believe  the  Anglo-Teuton  theory  that  the 
Latin  races  are  doomed  to  perish,  remaining 
extant  in  Alsace  and  the  Channel  Islands 
only.  Solferino  was  a  shock  to  that  phan- 
tasy, and  Fashoda  will  be  its  death-blow." 
(It  will  be  remembered  that  Major  Mar- 
chand  was  still  a  mere  child  at  the  date  of 
this  prophecy.) 

"  And  Spain,"  he  cried,  "  romantic  home 
of  lost  Carloses,  and  odorous  onions,  and 
impossible  Armadas — shall  she  suffer  her 
colonies  to  bow  to  the  brutal  invader  ? 
Never,  while  a  breath  is  left  in  the  swelling 
chests  of  her  toreadors  !  "  (This  remark, 
again,  is  supposed  to  be  made  in  1869,  prior 
to  the  late  Cuban  war,  for  which  J.  O.  H., 
though  American,  was  in  no  sort  of  way 
responsible.) 

2f7  ^  3fC  «|C 

For  a  growing  girl,  Midget's  knowledge 
of  the  world  showed  a  precocity  which  is 
only  explicable  by  reference  to  her  careful 


20  Borrowed  Plumes 

traininj;^  in  the  seclusion  of  a  convent.  Of 
her  hfe  with  Lady  Fitz-Blouse  she  wrote  : — ■ 
"  Consolatory  platitudes  exude  from  her 
brain  with  the  facile  fluency  of  her  own 
saucy  ringlets.  Artlessness,  in  her  case, 
has  grown  into  an  accomplishment  so  close 
to  nature  that  it  borders  on  sincerity.  For 
ansW'Cr,  I  fall  back  upon  the  history  of  the 
Bourbons.  Really,  the  contemptuous  atti- 
tude of  these  English  toward  uncrowned 
royalties  is  something  appalling.  Yester- 
day, in  company  of  some  pompous  locals,  to 
whom  a  foreign  title  is  a  thing  pour  rire,  I 
was  compelled,  against  my  dearest  princi- 
ples, to  play  croquet.  I  stuck  all  the  after- 
noon in  the  first  hoop,  wondering  why  I  w^as 
an  Archduchess.  But  I  have  not  lived  all 
these  years  without  learning  the  value  of 
self-repression.  Remember  me  in  your 
orisons." 

ijc  ^  5j«  ^ 

Opposition,  with  Robert,  had  been  the 
very  food  and  drink  from  w'hich  he  had 
wrung  the  cud  of  a  brooding  personality. 
Chew  thyself  was  his  habitual  rule  of  life. 
Mastered  now-  by  an  indefinable  sensation, 


*'  John  Oliver  Hobbes  '*        21 

made  up  of  the  elements  of  passion  and 
brotherly  love,  and  yet  not  strictly  to  be 
analysed  as  either,  he  found  his  occupa- 
tion gone.  The  rarefied  atmosphere  of  his 
new  environment  was  too  strong  for  him. 
No    prig    could    hope    to    live    in    it — not 

comfortably. 

*  *  *  * 

It  will  be  convenient  here  to  give  a  short 
extract  of  the  very  full  notes  taken  by  the 
deck-steward  of  the  St.  Malo  packet  during 
the  extended  prelude  of  Robert's  abortive 
honeymoon.  (In  1869  the  progress  of  these 
vessels  was  marked  by  a  much  greater 
deliberation.)  "  '  My  experience  of  human 
nature,'  I  overheard  the  lady  say,  '  allows 
me  to  read  your  thoughts.  Taught  to 
indulge  yourself  in  the  gratification  derived 
from  self-sacrifice,  you  are  suspicious  of  a 
Paradise  which  offers  no  useful  scope  for 
renunciation.  You  suffer  the  chagrin  of  not 
being  a  martyr  to  anything  in  particular.' 

"  '  Midget,'  replied  the  gentleman,  *  you 
intrude  upon  the  sanctity  of  my  private 
soul.  I  am  engaged  just  now  over  the 
enigma  of  a  submerged  identity.' 


22  Borrowed  Plumes 

"  '  I  knew  it,'  said  the  lady.  '  There  are 
obscure  penetralia  in  your  ethical  system  of 
which  not  even  your  wife  is  allowed  the 
entree.  We  may  be  married  lovers,  but  we 
can  never,  never,  be  friends  ! ' 

"  '  Do  not  ask  me  to  sate  your  curiosity,' 
said  the  gentleman.  '  It  would  run  into 
another  six-shilling  volume.'  " 

^  ^  >st  ;(: 

Lady  Tarara  -  Gloriana  -  Mesopotamia  - 
Variete  de  Pimpernel  was  v/earing  a 
sherry-coloured  dress  with  canary  facings, 
which  enhanced  the  distinction,  while  it 
mitigated  the  obtrusiveness,  of  the  Hittite 
streak  in  her  complexion.  Reserved  yet 
expansive,  sincere  yet  tortuous,  cold  yet 
inflammable,  self-absorbed  yet  centrifugal, 
capable  of  devoutness  yet  also  capable  de 
tout,  she  was  a  mystery  to  most  and  a  con- 
tradiction to  all.  Certainly  she  was  too 
complex  for  Bien-entendue  Fitz-Blouse, 
whose  ingenuous  nature  was  content  to 
oscillate  uneasily  between  a  single  pair  of 
emotions — the  faint  memory  of  her  first 
husband,  and  the  fainter  hope  of  securing 
Robert  Porridge  for  her  second.     The  two 


"  John  Oliver  Hobbes  "        23 

women  had  little  in  common  beside  their 
womanhood  (shared  by  the  sex)  and  their 
desire  for  Robert  (shared  by  a  considerable 
section  of  it). 

*  *  *  * 

"  I  think  Mr.  Browning  is  so  true  about 
soul  and  sense,"  said  Bien-entendue. 
"  Women,  especially,  seem  to  be  half 
spiritual  and  half  sensible." 

"  Half  sensible  ?  "  said  Lady  Tarara-etc, 
bitterly.     "  I  find  them  altogether  stupid." 

"  I  knew  you  must  be  badly  in  love, 
dear,"  said  Bien-entendue,  with  quick  intui- 
tion. "  Who  is  it  ?  Mine's  Robert  Por- 
ridge." 

She  spoke  with  a  simple  candour  that 
invited  confidence. 

Lady  Tarara-etc.'s  steel  belt,  studded  with 
black  pearls,  snapped  abruptly  and  flew 
across  the  boudoir  ;  but  she  gave  no  other 
sign  of  the  internal  shock  that  she  had  sus- 
tained. 

"  And  mine,"  she  replied,  as  she  collected 
the  fragments  with  perfect  aplomb,  "  mine 
is — Lord    Flotsam."      She    was    a    gifted 


24  Borrowed  Plumes 

woman.  The  lie  had  a  superb  air  of 
probabiHty. 

"  Have  you  tried  playing  Patience,  dear?" 
said  Bien-entendue,  very  gently.  "  The 
*  Demon  '  is  so  good  for  the  nerves.  I  often 
say  to  myself,"  she  added,  with  a  woman's 
tact  for  easy  digression,  "  that  life  is  indeed 
a  school  for  saints.  I  do  so  dislike  schools 
for  saints.  They  sound  like  convents,  and 
seem  so  FrencJi.  Poor  dear  Alfred  was 
very  English,  you  know." 

"  There  ought  only  to  be  boys'  schools  for 
saints,"  said  Tarara-etc.  ;  "  and  yet,"  with  a 
sudden  fury,  "  I  could  be  as  pious  as  a  Ves- 
tal if  a  man's  love  was  to  be  got  by  it.  Ah  ! 
Bah  !  " 

"  I  should  think  Lord  Flotsam  must  be  a 
very  beautiful  character,"  said  Bien-enten- 
due, innocently. 

^  ^  ^  ^ 

To  Robert  it  was  a  matter  of  heart- 
searching  that  his  sense  of  Alidget's  near- 
ness varied  inversely  with  her  physical  prox- 
imity. Thus  when  she  was  a  hundred  miles 
away,  he  would  inadvertently  order  dinner 
for  two  ;  but  when  he  actually  kissed  her,  as 


*'John  Oliver  Hobbes  "         25 

on  the  exceptional  occasion  of  their  be- 
trothal, it  seemed  that  she  was  ahnost  round 
the  corner  of  the  next  street.  This  gave  a 
certain  remoteness  to  his  embrace,  which 
still  was  recorded  on  the  sensitive  tablets 
of  his  conscience  as  a  desecration.  A  little 
more  of  this  strain  and  his  taste  for  humom* 
would  have  been  permanently  impaired. 

Flotsam,  indeed,  was  uneasy  about  the 
marriage.  To  him  the  undivided  devotion 
of  his  select  circle  was  a  thing  too  sacred  to 
be  lightly  disturbed.  To  a  friend  who  once 
reminded  him  that  it  is  more  blessed  to  give 
than  to  receive,  he  replied  that  in  the  case 
of  true  friendship  he  was  prepared  to  waive 
the  higher  privilege.  Yet  it  was  not  only 
for  himself  that  he  was  concerned.  True, 
he  would  miss  Robert  at  piquet  ;  but  what 
was  piquet  compared  with  his  friend's  high- 
est happiness,  if  such  a  marriage  could  con- 
summate it  ?  But  could  it  ?  Wives,  accord- 
ing to  his  creed,  were  ordained  by  Provi- 
dence (an  Institution  which  Flotsam  had 
always  supported  as  a  matter  of  political 
conviction)  to  serve  as  the  conventional' 
decoration  of  a  man's  career  ;  a  mere  favour 


26  Borrowed  Plumes 

(on  the  man's  part)  attached  to  his  serious 
fighting  panoply.  Robert's  more  lofty  con- 
ception of  their  purpose  filled  his  friend  with 
a  despondent  awe,  which  lent  to  his  appear- 
ance as  "  best  man "  a  very  natural  and 
becoming  dignity. 


The  two  men  took  up  their  ground,  each 
with  his  pistol  leaning  up  against  the  other's 
forehead.  But  here  it  is  best  to  follow 
Robert's  own  description,  addressed,  the  day 
after,  to  his  patron,  Lord  Isle  of  Rum  : — 
"  '  Is  it  to  be  a  I'outrance? '  I  asked.  '  A 
I'outrance,'  he  replied,  with  a  slight  intona- 
tion of  contempt,  as  if  my  French  had  been 
at  fault  ;  as  if,  in  fact,  I  had  given  a  false 
rendering  of  some  notice-board  at  an  exhibi- 
tion directing  people  '  To  the  Egress.'  Yet 
you,  my  Lord,  have  not  devoted  the  best  of 
your  manhood  to  mediaeval  research  without 
attaining  to  know  that  his  inclusion  of  the 
definite  article  has  the  sanction  of  all  the 
highest  authorities  on  the  duello.  It  was  a 
subtle  triumph  of  culture  that  I  had 
achieved,  after  which  it  seemed  a  relative 


"John  Oliver  Hobbes  "         27 

grossness  to  blow  his  head  off.     You  will 
guess  that  it  killed  him. 

"  I  admit  that  in  my  more  sentient 
moments  I  suffer  regrets.  One  may  argue 
that  it  was  not  a  lingering  death ;  yet  to  kill 
a  man,  by  whatever  process,  is  an  act  that 
must  ever  remain  irretrievable.  Nor  are  my 
regrets  adequately  silenced  by  the  reflection 
that  his  brain  was  his  weakest  point.  Do 
not  think  me  callous.  Sarcasm  is  the  relief 
of  a  mind  too  acutely  alive  to  the  pitifulness 
of  mortality.  Naturally,  I  am  moving  on. 
If  your  gout  permits,  address  me,  Hotel  de 
la  Resignation,  Roma." 

'K  'F*  'i^  'T* 

The  following  passage  is  taken  from  an 
interview  with  Mr.  Disraeli,  published  at  a 
later  period  : — '*  Yes  ;  after  the  duel  he 
applied  for  the  Chiltern  Hundreds.  I  for- 
warded them,  with  reluctance,  to  his  Italian 
address.  C'etait  tin  homme  d'nn  bien  beau 
passe,  as  Heine  wrote  of  De  Musset.  His 
was  a  nature  that  throve  on  obstacles,  and 
would  have  found  the  garden  of  the  Hes- 
perides  intolerable  with  the  dragon  away. 
These  scruples  were  respected  by  the  lady 


28  Borrowed  Plumes 

who  was  free  to  become  his  wife.  A  weaker 
woman  might  have  taken  the  veil  :  she  re- 
tired into  histrionics  ;  and,  as  I  understand, 
still  enjoys  a  very  passable  repute.  To  spec- 
ulate here  on  the  familiar  doctrine  of  gen- 
eral cussedness  would  be  a  laborious  super- 
fluity. I  will  content  myself — as  one  who 
has  ever  obeyed  the  guidance  of  his  own 
instincts — with  an  occasional  apophthegm 
which  I  cull  from  my  repertoire: — 

"A  fool  is  szvept  away  by  his  impulses:  a 
wise  man  parleys  witJi  them:  only  a  god  can 
afford  to  follozu  them  blindly." 


[A    Serious    JJ'^ooiiig.] 

"  And  where  shall  we  go  for  our  summer 
elopement  this  year,  dearest  ?  "  said  Jocelyn, 
as  they  stood  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 
"  Would  Nuremberg  suit  you  ?  " 

"  What  route  do  you  propose  ?  "  asked 
Rosabel,  suddenly  practical,  and  extricating 
herself  from  his  grasp. 

"  I  suggest  the  Hook  of  Holland  and  the 
Rhine  to  IMayence.  Have  you  any  preju- 
dices in  the  matter  ?  " 


*' John  Oliver  Hobbes"         29 

"  How  do  you  get  to  the  Hook  of  Hol- 
land ?  " 

"  By  the  Great  Eastern,  from  Liverpool 
Street  to  Harwich.  But  why  this  unwo- 
manly reg-ard  for  detail  ?  I  hardly  know 
you,  Rosabel,  in  this  new  attitude.". 

"  Is  Liverpool  Street  the  only  starting- 
point  for  Harwich  ?  "  She  insisted  with  a 
strange  perseverance. 

"  Rosabel,  Rosabel,  you  have  changed 
surprisingly  since  our  last  elopement.  Is  it 
the  influence  of  3'our  second  marriage  ? 
You  never  talked  like  this  before.  You  were 
never  importunate  about  termini.  Can  you 
have  lost  your  old  confidence  in  me  ?  " 

"  Never,  never  !  But  we  must  be  frank 
with  one  another,  and  face  the  truth.  We 
shall  have  many  embarrassments  to  contend 
with  in  our  coming  irregular  career  ;  let  us 
not  anticipate  them  ;  let  us  at  least  hold 
together,  you  and  I.  Is  Liverpool  Street 
the  only  starting-point  for  Harwich  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  thousand  times  yes.  And  now 
kindly  explain." 

A  sigh  of  satisfaction  escaped  from  Ro- 
sabel.   "  Dearest,"  she  said,  "  between  those 


30  Borrowed  Plumes 

who  love  no  explanation  should  be  needed. 
But  I  too  will  be  frank  with  you.  I  have 
not  lived  this  long,  weary  time  apart  from 
you  without  growing  older  and  knowing 
more  of  the  world.  Never  again,  with  my 
eyes  open,  will  I  elope  with  anyone  on  a 
system  with  alternative  routes,  such  as  the 
Chatham  and  South-Eastern.  Have  you  al- 
ready forgotten  the  fiasco  of  our  first 
elopement  ?  How  it  fell  through,  as  it  were, 
between  two  stools — namely,  Victoria  and 
Charing  Cross  ?  And  my  first  husband 
lying  dead  at  the  time,  and  I  ignorant  of 
that  fait  accompli  ?  It  is  by  these  little 
accidents — an  unforeseen  change  of  ter- 
minus at  the  last  moment,  for  instance — 
that  the  entire  destinies  of  two  lives  may 
ho.  permanently  bifurcated.  But  for  those 
alternative  routes  we  might  have  reached 
Marseilles  together,  read  of  my  first  hus- 
band's death  in  the  papers,  got  married  at 
the  consulate,  and  been  an  honest  man  and 
woman  ever  afterwards." 

"  '  Honest,'  Rosabel  ?  What  is  this  new 
talk  of  technical  virtue,  based  on  signatures 
before  witnesses  ?     Do  you,  after  all,  regret 


"John  Oliver  Hobbes  "        31 

the  step  we  are  once  more  taking  in  defiance 
of  social  tradition  ?  Ce  n'est  que  le  premier 
pas  qui  coiite.  This  is  the  second  of  the 
kind." 

"  No,  my  love,  I  am  not  drawing  back. 
But  a  second  elopement,  even  with  the  same 
man,  can  never  be  quite  the  same  thing. 
The  first  prompt,  instinctive  glow  is  irrevo- 
cably gone.  One  becomes  rational,  almost 
worldly  in  one's  unworldliness.  But  my 
mind  is  fixed;  I  shall  not  fail  you.  To- 
night, then,  at  Liverpool  Street,  for  the 
Hook."  (She  smiled  a  little  pathetically  at 
this  unpremeditated  pleasantry.)  "You  will 
get  the  tickets — single  tickets,  of  course.  I 
must  go  home  for  my  Church  Service  and 
hand-mirror,  and  to  leave  a  p.p.c.  on  my 
second  husband.  Remember!  Liverpool 
Street." 


III. 

MISS    ELLEN  THORNEYCROFT 
FOWLER. 

[A    Double    Thread.'] 

"  Nothing  in  a  woman,  my  dear  Ethel- 
frida,  betrays  such  lack  of  social  savoir  fake 
as  the  habit  of  telling-  fibs,"  said  Lady  Wol- 
verhampton. "  No  sensible  man  ever  be- 
lieves that  a  woman  means  what  she  says; 
and  that  makes  it  so  much  safer  to  tell  the 
truth.  That's  how  I  married  Wolverhamp- 
ton. I  told  him  I  had  never  cared  for  any 
man,  and  he  at  once  became  jealous — as  I 
meant  he  should.  If  a  woman  ever  becomes 
a  bishop-elect  it  will  be  quite  useless  for  her 
to  say,  '  Non  volo  cpiscopare.'  " 

"  By  your  ladyship's  leave,  is  it  not  '  Nolo 
episcopari '  ?  "  said  Lord  Bathbrick. 
32 


Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler       33 

"If  you  were  not  a  man,  Bathbrick," 
replied  Lady  Wolverhampton,  "  you  would 
know  that  knowledge  of  the  Classics  is  such 
bad  form  in  a  woman  ;  almost  like  working 
for  your  living.  But,  talking  of  the  sexes,  I 
wonder,  Ethel frida,  that  you  have  never 
married  any  one.  It  seems  such  an  over- 
sight ;  the  sort  of  thing  that  is  inexcusable 
in  a  well-bred  girl." 

The  heiress  turned  a  cynical  eye  upon  her 
visitor.  "  It  would  be  worth  while  to  be  a 
beggar-maid,"  she  said,  "  if  one  could  make 
sure  of  being  taken  in  to  dinner  by  Cophe- 
tua.  As  it  is,  I  am  modest  enough  to  believe 
that  my  money  is  the  only  reason  for  my 
popularity." 

"  And  a  very  good  reason  too,  my  dear," 
said  Lady  Wolverhampton,  "  if  you  must 
have  one  ;  though  there  is  nothing  so 
unreasonable  as  a  good  reason.  No  man 
ever  yet  married  a  woman  for  herself,  seeing 
that  he  could  have  no  possible  means  of 
knowing  what  her  actual  self  was  like.  They 
marry  us  for  our  hair,  or  our  faces,  or  the 
virtues  they  think  we  have,  or  the  money  of 
which  they  are  quite  certain.  And  none  of 
3 


34  Borrowed  Plumes 

these,  not  even  our  hair,  is  an  essential  part 
of  our  permanent  selves." 

"  But  I  thought,  dear  lady,"  interrupted 
Lord  Bathbrick,  "  that  you  always  said  your 
husband  married  you  for  yourself." 

"  There  you  are  wrong,  Bathbrick.  It 
was  /  who  married  him.  I  got  quite  a 
respect  for  him  through  never  noticing  him 
when  he  was  there,  or  being  able  to  remem- 
ber what  he  was  like  when  he  was  away.  An 
excellent  test  of  good  style.  Your  well-bred 
person  should  have  no  manners;  none,  at 
least,  perceptible  to  the  eye.  Just  as  when 
you  ask  a  man  what  sort  of  gow^n  a  woman 
was  wearing  at  a  ball,  it  has  always  escaped 
his  notice,  unless  it  was  either  overdone  or 
underdone.  And  that  reminds  me  that  I 
could  never  see  either  sense  or  grammar  in 
the  saying,  Manners  makctJi  man.  Man  is 
born  that  way,  he  isn't  made," 

"  I  can't  imagine,  my  dear  Adeline,"  said 
Ethelfrida,  with  her  slight  nasal  drawl, 
"  how  you  contrive  to  say  all  those  clever 
things  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  How  do 
you  do  it  ?     I'm  always  trying." 

"  Don't  be  satirical,  my  dear,"  said  Lady 


Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler      35 

Wolverhampton  ;  "  it  is  bad  manners,  and 
doesn't  suit  your  child-like  cast  of  counte- 
nance. The  thing  is  so  simple  that  it  is 
naturally  inexplicable.  I  just  jot  down  these 
little  jeux  d'esprit  as  I  work  them  out  in 
bed,  or  at  church,  or  when  Wolverhampton 
is  talking  to  me  ;  and  then  I  run  through 
them  before  paying  calls  or  receiving  people. 
No  impromptu  ever  has  a  true  air  of  spon- 
taneity unless  it  has  been  '  made  at  leisure.'  "' 

"  A  most  original  paradox,  my  lady,"  said 
Lord  Bathbrick. 

"  I  wish,  Bathbrick,  you  would  not  keep 
on  throwing  my  title  in  my  teeth,"  said 
Lady  Wolverhampton.  "  Such  things  are 
taken  for  granted  and  never  mentioned 
among  well-bred  people.  They  ought  to 
resemble  the  abstract  noun  in  the  definition 
of  the  small  board-school  girl  :  '  An  abstract 
noun  is  a  thing  that  every  one  knows  of  but 
nobody  talks  about — like  Mary's  leg.'  As 
for  paradoxes,  I  begin  to  fear  their  mode  is 
passed  ;  the  latest  piquancy  is  only  to  be 
found  in  truisms.  Nowadays,  if  you  say  in 
the  good  old-fashioned  manner,  '  Charity  is 
the  one  unpardonable  sin,'  nobody  pretends 


36  Borrowed  Plumes 

not  to  understand  you  ;  whereas  if  you  say, 
*  There  is  nothing  so  essentially  feminine  as 
a  woman,'  people  suspect  a  hidden  meaning 
and  try  to  conceal  their  uncomfortableness." 

"  But  how  do  you  manage,"  asked  Ethel- 
frida,  "  to  run  off  all  these  epigrams  in  the 
course  of  a  conversation  withe  ut  any  appa- 
rent solution  of  logical  continuity  ?  " 

"  Tact,  my  dear,  tact.  To  absorb  the 
conversation  yourself  is  a  sign  of  ill-breed- 
ing ;  nice  people  reach  the  same  result  by 
ignoring  interruptior  ;  or,  what  is  better 
still,  and  corresponds  to  the  sleight-of-hand 
by  which  a  card  is  forced,  you  compel  the 
others  involuntarily  to  lead  up  to  your  next 
remark.  This  is  easy  enough  in  books 
where  the  author  has  it  all  his  own  way  ; 
but  in  real  life  it  requires  tact,  as  I  just  now 
observed." 

"  But  suppose  you  found  yourself  con- 
versing with  somebody  possessed  of  equal 
tact  ?  "  asked  Ethelfrida,  with  that  slight 
air  of  ennui  which  is  characteristic  of  spoilt 
women  of  the  world. 

"  I  never  do,"  said  Lady  Wolverhamp- 
ton. "  It  would  be  too  tiresome  sitting  there 


Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler       37 

like  a  Christy  Minstrel  with  a  black  face 
saying  funny  things  in  your  turn." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  Bathbrick,  "  and  begin- 
ning every  time  with  '  That  reminds  me  of 
a  story.'  " 

"  I  know :  and  it  never  really  docs  remind 
them.  What  they  mean  is,  '  Your  stupid 
interruption  nearly  put  my  next  good  story 
out  of  my  head.     It  was  about,  &c.'  " 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Ethelfrida,  with  a  touch 
of  bitterness  at  the  thin  end  of  her  tongue, 
"  that  you  have  never  written  a  book.  It 
would  be  so  very  clever." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Wolverhampton, 
"  I  can't  afford  to  do  it.  It  would  be  like 
killing  the  goose  that  lays  the  nuggets. 
Besides,  it  might  have  a  vulgar  success ;  and 
that  would  be  so  tiresome.  And  then  I  could 
never  manage  the  plot.  You  see,  well-bred 
people  hardly  ever  have  plots  in  their  lives. 
The  very  word  always  makes  me  think  of  a 
kitchen  garden  in  a  pauper's  allotment.  I 
once  had  an  idea  about  a  girl  like  yourself, 
blest  with  all  the  good  things  of  life,  includ- 
ing a  pretty  face  and  a  long  tongue,  with 
which  she  lashed  every  lover  whom  she  sus- 


38  Borrowed  Plumes 

pected  of  wanting  her  money.  But  at  last 
the  real  Dan  Cupid,  as  she  called  him,  came 
her  way.  He  was  quite  a  nice  boy,  and 
sound  on  vaccination  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
but  he  fought  shy  of  her  money  and  her  long 
tongue.  She  had  never  been  in  love  before, 
and  she  was  much  too  clever  to  understand 
how  so  easy  a  thing  is  done.  So  she  thought 
she  would  get  a  testimonial  of  his  honesty, 
as  if  he  were  applying  for  a  place  as  butler." 

"  Or  cook  ?  "  suggested  Lord  Bathbrick. 

"  Or  cook,  as  you  say.  But  don't  inter- 
rupt me,  Bathbrick.  Well,  she  gave  out 
that  she  had  a  destitute  twin  sister,  hope- 
lessly estranged,  and  no  better  than  she 
should  be.  This  twin  was  the  speaking 
image  of  her,  only  dressed  dowdily,  and  with 
her  hair  done  just  anyhow.  And  the  nice 
boy  met  the  penniless  girl  and  fell  in  love 
with  her.  Twin  Xo.  i  had  only  got  to 
frumple  her  hair,  put  on  a  misfit  and  shorten 
her  tongue,  and  she  was  transformed,  as  by 
magic,  into  twin  Xo.  2  ;  and  the  nice  boy 
would  never  have  found  out  that  there  was 
only  one  of  them,  if  she  had  not  confessed. 
And  then  he  was  sick  to  death  at  the  trick 


Ellen  Thorney croft  Fowler       39 

and  said   she  was   no  gentlewoman.     You 
know  how  touchy  men  are  on  these  ridicu-' 
lously  trivial  points  of  honour." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Ethelfrida;  "whereas 
you,  dear,  would  consider  that  you  had  been 
untrue  to  your  feminine  instincts  if  any  man 
suspected  you  of  having  scruples." 

Lady  Wolverhampton  took  a  short  breath 
abstractedly. 

"  Well,"  she  continued,  "  the  girl  apolo- 
gised ;  which,  of  course,  no  womanly  girl 
would  ever  do;  with  the  result  that  he  ran 
away  and  went  on  with  being  a  soldier  some- 
where in  India.  Oh,  of  course  she  got  him 
back  all  right  in  the  last  chapter  ;  but  the 
whole  thing  was  too  absurd  for  words.  Not 
that  that  matters  much  with  the  public :  they 
forgive  an  improbably  stupid  plot,  if  only 
the  dialogue  is  impossibly  clever; which  mine 
was.  But,  as  I  said,  I  found  I  could  not 
afford  to  publish  all  my  best  epigrams,  with 
openings  to  match.  And  that  reminds  me 
that  I  must  be  off,  as  I  have  some  people  to 
dinner,  and  there  is  a  new  phrase-book  to 
run  through.  Good-bye,  my  dear  ;  so  many 
thanks  for  your  charming  conversation. 
Come  along,  Bathbrick." 


4©  Borrowed  Plumes 

[The  Farringdons.] 

"  I'm  sure  Eton  will  win,"  said  Lady 
Kidderminster,  oracularly.  "  Look  at  their 
colours  ;  it's  a  strugg'le  between  the  powers 
of  light  and  the  powers  of  darkness,  like 
the  war  in  China." 

"  They  can't  exactly  zvin,"  said  Lord 
Gosling  ;  "  you  see,  it's  a  tie  already." 

"  You  were  always  so  practical  and  pro- 
saic. Gosling.  But  if  it's  a  tie  why  aren't 
they  satisfied  to  stop,  instead  of  running 
about  in  the  sun  and  making  everybody  feel 
so  hot,  and  noisy  ?  " 

"  Ties  are  made  to  be  broken,"  said  Lord 
Tommy.  "  And  yet  half  the  people  here 
want  this  tie  not  to  be  broken.  It's  rather 
like  the  different  parties  in  a  Divorce 
Court." 

"  Unless  there  is  no  defence,"  said  Lady 
Kidderminster. 

"  But  there's  a  very  good  defence  going 
on  at  the  wickets,"  said  Lord  Tommy. 

"  Or  else  collusion,"  continued  her  lady- 
ship, "  as  when  Kidderminster  proposed  to 
me.     I    wish    they   wouldn't   shout    so  :    it 


Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler      41 

makes  you  forget  the  things  you  were  going 
to  say.  Oh,  Harrow's  won,  have  they  ?  I 
knew  they  would  ! " 

^  ^  ^  ^ 

"  You  were  very  reserved  at  Lord's  the 
other  day,  Mr.  Ouarquar,"  said  Deborah. 
"  Were  you  out  of  dream-sympathy  with  the 
rushing  world  of  frivolity  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  your  fine  friends  are  very 
brilliant  and  scintillating,  Miss  Alders- 
gate?"  replied  Quarquar,  bitterly;  "but  I 
found  their  conversation  lacking  in  intensity 
of  purpose.  My  soul  seemed  to  stretch  out 
to  you  across  a  wilderness  of  fatuities." 

He  spoke  with  that  indefinable  charm 
which  so  often  imposes  upon  the  amateur 
female  artist. 

"  You  must  not  judge  them  too  harshly," 
said  Deborah.  "  Genius  like  yours  should 
be  generous  to  the  foibles  of  others  less 
gifted.  It  was  not  their  fault  that  they 
were  born  to  the  purple." 

"  I  glory,"  said  Ouarquar,  "  in  the  fact 
that  I  am  essentially  middle-class  without 
being  too  obviously  vulgar.  After  all,  these 
blue-blooded  worldlings  only   tolerate   you. 


42  Borrowed  Plumes 

They  would  never  invite  you  to  share  their 
future,  as  I  at  this  moment  invite  you." 

"  I  admit,"  rephed  Deborah,  "  that  I  find 
you  sympathetic.  I  respect  your  artistic 
talent,  particularly  in  the  matter  of  colour- 
schemes  and  backgrounds;  and  I  have  the 
true  woman's  desire  to  improve  you.  But 
can  I,  on  this  account,  be  accurately  de- 
scribed as  entertaining  a  passionate  love  for 
you?" 

"  Assuredly,"  replied  Quarquar. 

"Then  I  will  take  till  Michaelmas  to 
think  it  over,"  said  Deborah.  "  But  it  upsets 
all  my  previous  calculations  to  feel  so  unde- 
cided. Everything  seems  to  conspire  in  your 
favour ;  you  paint,  you  are  earnest,  you  need 
improving,  and  you  are  unmarried;  yet — if 
you  don't  much  mind — I  will  take  the  rest 
of  the  current  quarter  to  think  it  over." 


IV. 

AN  ENGLISHWOMAN'S 
LOVE-LETTERS. 

My  Dear  Aunt,— I  am  about  to  send 
you  a  heavy  hatch  of  love-letters.  Do  not 
he  shocked.  I  recognise  that  zvc  are  within 
the  prohibited  degrees.  They  are  only 
female-love-letters  made  out  of  my  head. 
You  will  understand  that  I  have  disguised 
my  sex;  reversing,  out  of  deference  to  mod- 
ern feeling,  the  process  of  George  Eliot  and 
others.  I  was  naturally  tempted  to  call  my 
work  "  The  Love-Letters  of  Elisabeth," 
that  name  being  now  almost  de  rigueur  in 
the  trade;  but  I  have  been  content  to  say 
"  An  Englishwoman  has  done  this  thing." 
You  might  he  good  enough  to  get  them  pub- 
lished for  me,  and  affix  a  preface  (in  a  dif- 
ferent style  from  that  of  the  letters)  saying, 
(i)  that  they  were  originally  sacred  and 
meant  for  the  eyes  of  One  Only  ;  (2)  that 
43 


44  Borrowed  Plumes 

the  author  is  dead;  (3)  that  exceptional 
circumstances  have  arisen,  &c.;  and  (4) 
anything  else  that  may  occur  to  yon  as  likely 
to  intrigue  the  public.  I  o;ii  sending  them  to 
you  because  you  are  the  only  woman  that  I 
know  at  all  zi'cll  whose  handwriting  is  at 
once  feminine  and  legible.  This  is  necessary 
for  imposing  on  a  publisher's  innocence.  I 
shall  trust  you  to  amend  anything  that 
strikes  you  as  too  unladylike;  and,  in  the 
hope  that  you  ziill  kindly  remit  profits  to  me 
at  the  old  address,  I  sign  myself, 

Your  ever  anonymous, 

Nephew. 

•if.  if.  -^  -if. 

Brightest  and  Best, — This  is  the  first 
of  a  long-  and  steady  series  of  love-letters 
that  are  to  come  from  my  swelling  heart. 
Need  I  say  that  they  are  not  for  publica- 
tion? No  eye  but  yours,  not  even  your 
butler's,  must  ever  see  them.  I  have  a  trunk 
full  of  letters  of  responsive  love,  written 
daily  during  the  weary  six  months  of  our 
blossoming  friendship.  Each  was  ready 
stamped  at  the  time,  in  case  your  proposal 
arrived  before  the  bag  went  out.    And  now, 


Love-Letters  45 

at  last,  at  last,  I  have  hooked  you.  Dear  fish ! 
and  you  are  man  enough  to  imagine  the 
victory  yours !  See,  I  give  my  sex  away, 
and  am  too  glad  to  blush!  I  never  blush 
now.     Till  to-morrow. 

Your  Compleat  Angler. 
jK  *  *  * 

Most  Thoroughly  Beloved, — Had  you 
an  egg  for  breakfast  ?  I  had.  I  take  a  new 
and  absorbing  interest  in  myself,  now  that  I 
am  part  of  you!  As  a  child  I  have  been 
radiantly  happy  over  mud  pies.  I  must 
believe  now  that  somewhere  your  dear  hands 
were  contemporaneously  busy  with  the  same 
luscious  compound.  Otherwise  the  joy  I 
then  had  is  inexplicable.  I  was  to  tell  you 
of  a  wasp  on  my  window-sill,  and  a  new 
dress,  also  with  a  sting  in  its  tail,  into  whose 
making  I  have  put  all  my  love  for  you,  and 
how  I  saw  a  rabbit,  during  the  transit  of 
Venus,  sucking  dandelions  on  the  lawn ;  but 
I  am  so  fearful  that  you  will  look  for 
mysteries  between  the  lines,  and  despair  of 

following  me.     Your  ever  amorous. 

*  *  *  * 

Own, — Shall  we  give  each  other  names 


46  Borrowed  Plumes 

from  the  stars,  that  we  may  wink  together 
when  apart?  Yes?  Then  I  will  be  Virgo, 
and  you  shall  be  the  Great  Bear  that  hugs 
me.  It  is  my  birthday,  and  you  did  not 
know !  Somehow,  I  could  not  tell  you :  so 
strange  a  thing  is  a  really  nice  woman's 
reserve. 


Most  Patient, — The  post  has  this 
moment  gone  with  my  letter,  finished  just  in 
time.  So  I  sit  down  to  begin  another.  I 
could  go  on  writing  without  a  break  except 
for  meals ;  but  pity  is  at  the  heart  of  my  love. 

>K  *  5^  5i« 

Loveliest, — You  have  won  the  right  to 
know  my  past.  I  will  not  withhold  from 
you  that  an  intermittent  fever,  something- 
like  nettle-rash,  used  to  possess  me  when  I 
dreamed  of  one  day  being  a  maker  of  books. 
Now  that  I  have  you,  I  have  no  care  for  a 
larger  public.  And.  indeed,  it  is  a  man's 
career.  For  woman  there  is  love  and  there 
is  beauty.  My  heart  is  my  warrant  for  the 
one;  for  the  other,  it  ripens  daily  in  my 
mirror.     Happy  Mercury !     though  perhaps 


Love-Letters  47 

it  is   for  you,   rather  than  me,   to   say   it. 
Please  say  it. 

'^  'r  'Tr  "ir 

My  Star,  My  Great  Bear, — I  have 
your  very  own  letter  acknowledging  my  six 
last,  which  seem  to  have  arrived  by  consecu- 
tive posts.  You  ask  me  if  I  do  not  weary 
myself,  and  whether  I  could  not  contrive  to 
say  a  little  less.  Dear  Altruist!  I  do  not, 
and  I  could  not,  if  I  tried. 

Your   importunate 

*  *  *  * 

Absent  yet  Present, — What,  what  is 
this  of  your  sickness,  and  me  not  by  to  touch 
the  spot  ?  To  think  that  you  should  be  laid 
up  with  "  servant's  knee"  !  Why,  it  is  I,  who 
am  one  large  genuflexion  at  your  feet,  that 
should  suffer  in  that  sort.  Do  not  fear  that 
I  should  love  you  less,  though  both  your 
knees  should  perish  utterly.  You  are  you, 
and  cannot  essentially  change.  I  send  you 
Browning's  Jocoseria  for  a  love-potion. 
Your  Nana   (not  Zola's,  but  meaning  your 

Nurse  that  would  be). 

*  *  *  * 

Poor,  poor, — So  the  medicine  was  worse 


48  Borrowed  Plumes 

than  the  disease,  and  the  "  servant's  knee '" 

has  given  place  to  a   strain  in  your  dear 

mind?      It    was    thoughtless    to    send    you 

Browning,  when  you  were  too  weak  to  bear 

him.     Be  appeased,  beloved!     Where  your 

mother  has   failed,   it   will   take  something 

more  than  Browning   to  se\er  us.     Here  is 

Baedeker  in  his  stead,  that  you  may  picture 

me  in  Italy,  for  which  I  start  next  week. 

My  body,  that  is,  for  my  spirit  will  bestride 

your  pillow.    In  Paradise,  I  think,  there  will 

be  no  side-saddles.     Ever  your  astral. 
*  *  *  * 

Never  doubt  me,  dearest.  I  would  not 
dream  of  setting  up  my  opinion  against 
yours.  I  have  seen  your  mother  but  once; 
you  must  have  met  her  far,  far,  oftener. 
But  then,  I  think,  she  could  never  have 
accused  you,  even  tacitly,  of  suffering  from 
hereditary  madness.  Here,  quite  humbly, 
I  have  the  advantage  of  you  in  my  experi- 
ence of  her.  Forgive  my  presumption;  you 
know  how  easily  I  would  lay  down  my  life 
for  you  at  the  first  soupcon  of  your  wish 
that  way.  When  will  you  put  me  to  the 
test?    To-morrow?    Then  it  must  be  by  the 


Love-Letters  49 

morning  post,  as  we  leave  in  the  afternoon 
for  the  Continent,  where  my  address  is 
uncertain.       Moribunda  te  saluto. 

^  :):  :1c  >j< 

Dearest  Innominato, — You  have  my 
letters,  one  from  Dover,  two  from  the  Calais 
bufifet,  and  a  post-card  from  each  end  of  the 
St.  Gothard  Tunnel?  Arno  is  under  me  as 
I  write.  The  architecture  of  Florence  is 
aldermanic :  it  glorifies  the  municipal  idea. 
One  misses  the  reach-me-up  of  the  soaring 
Gothic.  I  am  just  back  from  the  Academia 
delle  Belle  Arti.  (You  don't  mind  my  spell- 
ing it  with  only  one  c  ?  It  is  a  weakness  I 
cannot  conquer.)  I  thought  I  knew  my 
Lippo  of  the  prim  Madonnas,  that  so  belie 
the  known  levitv  of  their  model.  But  one 
has  first  to  see  his  "  Coronation,"  where  his 
own  portrait  shows  most  profane  among 
"  the  flowery,  bowery  angel-brood,"  beside 
the  brazen  "  little  lily-thing "  who  makes 
apology  for  his  intrusion  (and  hers,  too,  for 
that  matter)  with  her  unanswerable  "  Iste 
perfecit  opus."  Lucky  "  St.  Lucy  "  !  If  I 
were  Florentine,  and  not,  as  you  know,  an 
Englishwoman  abroad,  engaged  to  be  mar- 


50  Borrowed  Plumes 

ried,  and  could  choose  from  all  this  city's 
centuries  a  man  to  love,  certainly  this  same 
Lippo  should  have  my  heart. 

"  Flower  o"  the  broom, 
Take  away  love  and  our  earth  is  a  tomb. ' ' 

Whoever — it  should  not  be  Lucrezia's  half- 
souled  del  Sarto,  though  he  does  get  more 
atmosphere  into  his  work  than  most  of  them. 
How  Browning  has  made  these  dead  bones 
live  for  us  with  his  touch  of  Fancy,  re-creat- 
ing Fact !  But  I  forgot ;  you  begged  me,  as 
I  loved  you,  not  to  mention  him.  Yet  he, 
too,  wrote  love-letters ;  as  I  have  heard,  for  I 
would  never  suffer  myself  to  read  them; 
such  a  desecration  it  seems  to  have  given 
them  to  the  gaping  public.  Dearest,  you 
would  never  allow  this  sacrilege,  I  well 
know.  Still,  now  that  I  glance  through  my 
remarks  on  Lippo  it  seems  too  pretty  a  piece 
of  writing  to  fade  unseen  of  the  general  eye 
of  man.  Might  we  not,  after  all,  some  day 
print  extracts  from  such  of  my  letters  as 
seem  to  have  a  permanent  value  for  the 
world?  For  instance,  I  shall  have  some 
fresh  thoughts  on  the  Renaissance  to  send 
you  in  my  next. 


Love-Letters  5 1 

But  I  have  omitted  all  this  while  to  say 
that  your  face,  and  yours  only,  fills  every 
canvas  here.  Kiss  your  mother  for  me. 
This  is  not  a  joke.     Addio!    Buoni  sogni! 

;|c  ^  ^  ^ 

Out  of  a  gondola  "  I  send  my  heart  up  to 
thee,  all  my  heart."  I  want  you  here  in 
Venice,  to  hold  you  by  the  hand  and  teach 
you  things  about  Art  not  to  be  found  even  in 
Baedeker.  I  should  be  the  man,  and  you 
would  be  the  woman — in  this  Kingdom  by 
the  Sea,  as  Mr.  Swinburne  said  of  Georges 
Sand  and  De  Musset.  You  have  heard  of 
these  people,  beloved? 

My  Italian  betters  itself.  I  had  a  fancy, 
when  I  saw  Dogana  written  up  in  the  rail- 
way station  on  my  arrival  here,  that  it  was 
the  feminine  of  Doge  and  so  should  mean 
the  Sea,  because  the  Doges  used  to  wed  it 
with  a  ring.  Of  course,  it  was  really  the 
Custom  House  (Douane).  We  call  our  pet 
gondolier  Ippopotamo,  because,  for  lack  of 
cabs,  he  is  our  river-horse.  Who  was  the 
old  lady  who  complained  that  she  did  not  see 
Venice  under  favourable  conditions,  os  it 
was  flooded f*    No  thought  but  of  you. 


52  Borrowed  Plumes 

*  -Jf-  :K  * 

By  all  means,  dearest,  make  an  armistice 
with  your  mother,  and  let  us  all  go  into 
winter-quarters.  I  remember,  the  first  (and 
only)  time  I  saw  her,  she  had  such  an  air  of 
maternity  that  I  almost  asked  her  if  she 
knew  you  were  out.  Frankly,  beloved,  she 
is  really  rather  an  old  hen;  or  shall  we  say 
she  is  most  (or  should  it  be  more)  like 
Calverley's  parroquet  that  declined  to  die? 
It  was  imbecile,  too,  you  know;  the  very 
epithet  your  mother  applied,  by  implication, 
to  my  mother.  Still,  I  must  love  her  a  little, 
since,  but  for  her,  how  could  I  have  known 
you  ?    In  any  case,  my  whole  love  to  her  son. 

;):  ^  >!<  sic 

Most  Near, — This  must  be  a  very,  very 
short  letter,  as  I  can  hear  your  horse's  gallop 
in  the  lane.  You  are  coming,  beloved,  you 
are  coming ! 

I  am  just  returned  from  the  gate.  It  was 
the  butcher's  boy.  I  kissed  his  feet  from 
mere  association  of  ideas.  You  are  not 
jealous?  He  is  nothing,  nothing  to  me, 
except  that  just  now  he  seemed  to  take  your 
rightful  place.     See,  I  lay  my  cheek  on  the 


Love-Letters  53 

words  that  will  soon  glow  under  your  eyes. 
There,  I  have  a  black  smudge  on  my  nose, 
and  am  in  mourning  for  myself.  Lay  your 
nose,  dearest,  where  mine  has  left  the  paper 
still  warm.     Your  impressionable. 

't*  ^  'T^  -I- 

Gracious, — This  is  very  sudden.  Your 
dear  letter  says  that  I  must  understand  we 
parted  for  ever  last  Tuesday  at  3.30  p.  m. 
Ah !  these  things  should  not  be  written. 
Come  to  me,  come,  and  with  your  own  lips 
repeat  this  remark;  and  then  by  that  very 
act  you  will  belie  yourself  with  lovely 
perjury.  I  would  say  much  more,  but  my 
pen,  for  the  first  time  within  my  knowledge, 
refuses.  This  must  show  you  how  strangely 
I  am  your  distraught. 

^  3JC  3fC  ^ 

Of  course,  my  Prince,  if  you  mean  it,  I 
must  release  you.  But  nothing  shall  ever 
make  me  stop  writing.  Do  not  imagine  me 
capable  of  such  self-effacement.  There  is  a 
big  empty  play-box  upstairs,  which  I  am 
having  made  into  a  dead-letter  office.  There 
will  be  pigeon-holes  to  take  the  little  essays 
which,   out   of   my   great   love   for   you,    I 


54  Borrowed  Plumes 

promise  not  to  post.  You  are  right  in  say- 
ing that  I  am  the  most  generous  woman  you 
have  ever  met. 

***  T*  5|C  3fC 

Great  Heart, — I  would  have  you  know 

that  there  are  consolations.     If  you  had  let 

me  marry  you,   as   I  have   so  consistently 

urged,  that  might  have  been  the  end  of  my 

love-letters.    A^ozv  there  is  no  limit  set  them 

but  the  grave.     My  pen  was  always  jealous 

of  your  presence.     Now  it  knows  it  is  the 

dearest  thing  I  ever  grasp. 

^  ^  ^  ^ 

I  do  not  propose  to  outlive  my  happiness 
very  long.  And,  indeed,  my  own  mother 
died  when  I  was  seven.  In  one  of  my  letters 
I  told  you  my  family  was  long-lived  on  both 
sides.  This,  of  course,  was  not  true;  but  I 
wrote  it  just  after  your  mother  had  hinted 
that  my  "  stock  "  was  not  very  good  stuff. 
Your  sorry. 

I  seek  in  vain  for  help  from  the  grief  of 
poets.  Words !  words !  a  tagging  of  epi- 
taphs that  makes  me  sick.  "  C'est  aimer  pen 
que  de  pouvoir  dire  comhien  I'on  ainie." 
And  the  same  with  sorrow,  only  more  so.    If 


Love-Letters  55 

I  thought  that  any  eye  but  yours  would 
penetrate  the  secret  of  my  woe,  I  would 
destroy  these  letters  unwritten;  or  else  be 
more  careful  about  the  spelling  of  my 
Italian. 

I  cannot  stain  this  paper  with  tears  as  I 
could  have  wished.  Why  will  they  not 
come  at  call,  like  ink  ?  At  each  eyelid  hangs 
one,  but  only  semi-detached,  like  a  Brixton 
villa.  You  see,  I  am  not  so  sad  but  I  can 
still  compass  some  happy  turn  of  thought 

like  this.         Your  ever  ingenious. 

*  *  *  * 

Beloved  Orphan, — Light  lie  the  earth 
on  your  mother's  head.  So  short  a  while 
ago,  and  I  would  not  have  believed  that  I 
could  one  day  hear  of  her  death  unmoved. 
Yet  this  morning,  when  the  news  came,  I 
could  not  raise  so  much  as  a  feeble  smile. 
Well,  she  has  had  her  will;  and  now  she 
has  "  gone  to  her  place  " — not  mine,  let  me 
trust.  Dearest,  you  will  never  have  another 
mother  like  her;  nor  I,  it  seems,  a  mother- 
in-law  of  any  sort. 

*  *  *  * 

Dear  Only  Reader  (if  any), —  I  was 


56  Borrowed  Plumes 

born  with  a  penchant  for  descriptive  letters, 
and  had  I  meant  these  for  the  pubHc  eye  I 
should  have  made  your  personality  shine 
more  speakingly  through  them.  How  should 
the  world  know  just  what  you  are  to  me 
from  a  passing  reference  to  your  check 
riding-breeches  and  side-whiskers?  And  that 
is  so  long  past.  By  now  you  must  have 
replaced  the  one;  and  the  other  you  may 
have  shaved  away  in  a  paroxysm  of  regret. 

I  think  I  could  have  lost  you  almost  cheer- 
fully if  I  had  only  been  told  why.  One  of 
the  saddest  memories  of  my  childhood  (I 
was  two  at  the  time)  is  concerned  with  a 
tale  my  Nana  told  me,  of  a  poor  wronged 
woman — was  she  a  Queen  of  Spain,  or 
somebody  in  Tom  Hood? — whose  true  love 
left  her  on  a  rumour  that  she  had  a  wooden 
leg.  She  was  condemned  unheard,  and  the 
sentence  was  practically  capital.  Like  me, 
she  never  even  knew  the  charge  against  her ; 
partly  for  the  stringency  of  etiquette,  and 
in  part  through  the  proper  sensitiveness  of 
her  lover,  who  must,  I  think,  a  little  have 
resembled  you,  beloved. 

As  a  child — perhaps  already  nursing  my 


Love-Letters  57 

woman's  seed  of  uncomplaining  sorrow — 
the  story  touched  me  poignantly.  Arthur, 
on  the  other  hand,  who  also  was  present  at 
its  telling,  has  no  memory  of  it.  But  then 
he  was  my  junior,  being  barely  out  of  long- 
clothes. 

*  *  *  * 

Most  Stolid, — This  is  my  last  letter, 
positively.  The  doctors  give  me  till  to- 
morrow to  break  up.  Are  you  interested  to 
learn  the  cause?  No?  Then  I  must  still 
tell  you.  /  am  dying  of  Curiosity.  It  is  the 
woman's  ruling  passion — that,  and  love- 
letter-writing  in  my  case — strong  even  to 
the  death. 

Many  unsolicited  answers  to  our  conun- 
drum— yours  and  mine,  beloved,  for  all  that 
is  yours  is  mine — have  been  sent  in  to  me  by 
good-natured  people,  perfect  strangers  to 
me,  most  of  them.  One  writes,  quite 
gently,  hazarding  the  theory  that  you  were 
bored  by  me.  Well-meant,  but  manifestly 
absurd.  Another  guesses  that,  suddenly, 
you  have  recognised  your  own  mother's 
madness,  and  shrank  from  reproducing  it. 
Some  of  these  solutions  are  too  paltry  to 


58  Borrowed   Plumes 

repeat;  and  one  of  them  unmentionable  on 
other  grounds. 

In  my  secret  heart — it  may  have  been 
through  unconscious  association  with  the 
story  of  the  wooden  leg — I  half  believe  that 
when  I  called  your  attention,  perhaps  with 
too  careless  a  pride,  to  the  Xorman  tint  in 
my  veins,  you  gathered,  from  the  eloquence 
of  my  love,  that  their  blueness  w^as  really 
due  to  the  presence  of  ink  in  my  blood. 
Well,  whatever — I  would  shed  its  last  drop 
for  you.    Your  always  most  effusive. 


y. 

MR.  HALL  CAINE. 

[The  Eternal  City.] 

Note. — The  author,  in  attempting  to  follow 
Air.  Hall  Caine  in  his  latest  lights  of 
actuality,  wishes  to  cast  no  sort  of 
reflection  upon  any  extant  Monarch  or 
Official  of  State  whom  he  has  found  it 
convenient  to  introduce  for  the  pur- 
poses of  Art. 

It  was  the  dawn  of  a  new  century,  practi- 
cally contemporary  with  the  present.  By 
an  edict  of  the  young,  pale  King  Epami- 
nondas  I.,  this  unusual  event  was  to  be 
marked  by  the  inauguration  of  a  colossal 
scheme  for  restoring  the  Parthenon.  A 
Jubilee  Procession  to  the  Acropolis  had 
been  arranged  with  a  view  of  reviving  the 
splendours  of  the  ancient  Panathenaic 
59 


6o  Borrowed  Plumes 

festival.     All  Athens  had  been  notified  to 
attend. 

In  the  great  Square  (plafcia)  of  the  Con- 
stitution a  vast  and  motley  crowd  was 
assembled.  Here  was  the  Athenian  Demos, 
ever  ready,  as  in  the  days  of  the  Christian 
Era,  to  see  something  new.  Politicians  of 
the  cafe  {est iat aria)  might  be  seen  sipping 
their  sweet  niasticha,  or  munching  Greekish 
delight  (glitkuini)  inlaid  with  pistacchio 
nuts.  In  the  midst  of  animated  conversation 
they  were  telling  the  beads  of  their  secular 
rosaries,  as  occupation  for  their  restless 
hands.  Here  were  shepherds  from  distant 
Nomarchies,  Slavs  from  Boeotia,  Rouman- 
ians from  Acarnania,  clad  in  capotes  of 
goat's-hair,  or  red  vests  and  baggy  trousers, 
green  and  blue.  Here  were  Albanian  peas- 
ant-women in  long  shirts  with  broidered 
sleeves  and  leather  girdle,  and  the  glint  of 
sequins  in  their  hair.  Here  were  local 
Demarchs  swelling  with  importance;  there  a 
street  Arab  crying  his  sigarocharto  (cigar- 
ette papers)  at  25  lepta,  or  about  2^^/.  the 
packet;  or  a  newspaper-boy  shouting 
Ephemcris!  or  Astii!     (the  names  of  party- 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  6i 

organs).  There  again  was  an  archimandrite 
rubbing  elbows  with  a  parish  Papa  in  his 
conical  hat,  long  hair  and  dark  gown;  and, 
mixed  with  these,  the  foreign  tourist,  recog- 
nisable by  his  alien  speech  and  appearance. 

On  the  balcony  of  the  Prime  Minister's 
Palace,  overlooking  the  Square  of  the  Con- 
stitution, the  flower  of  Athenian  beauty  and 
chivalry  had  gathered,  along  with  the  Min- 
isters accredited  from  the  various  European 
Courts,  the  Vatican  amongst  them.  They 
were  greeting  one  another  in  terms  of  aris- 
tocratic familiarity,  such  as  Kale  mera 
(good  day),  or  ydssou  (your  health!). 
From  group  to  group  flitted  the  charming 
Princess  Vevifwiski,  a  Russian  blonde  with 
cockatoo  plumes  rising  from  a  Parisian 
toque,  now  tapping  a  General  of  Cavalry 
with  her  lorgnette,  now  ogling  an  attache 
behind  her  fan.  Scandal  was  the  topic  of 
the  hour. 

In  an  adjoining  salon  the  Prime  Minister, 
M.  Rallipapia,  having  dismissed  his  Cabinet 
and  the  corps  diplomatique,  was  now  closeted 
with  the  heads  of  the  Army,  the  Navy  and 
the  Auxiliary  Forces,  the  Chief  of  Police, 


62  Borrowed  Plumes 

the  Mayors  of  Athens  and  the  Piraeus,  the 
Directors  of  the  Foreign  Schools  of  Archaeo- 
logy, and  the  Commandante  of  the  Fire 
Brigade.  The  face  of  the  Premier,  who  was 
faultlessly  dressed  with  a  crimson  peony  in 
his  button-hole,  was  that  of  a  man  habitu- 
ated to  command,  and  unscrupulous  in  the 
methods  by  which  he  attained  his  ends. 

"  You,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  turning  to 
the  Archaeologists,  "  have  guaranteed  the 
stability  of  the  ruins  of  the  Acropolis  during 
co-day's  ordeal,  earthquakes  excepted;  I  do 
not  anticipate  a  fracas  in  any  other  quarter. 
But," — and  here  he  fixed  a  sombre  eye  upon 
the  various  officials  grouped  about  him — "at 
the  first  sign  of  disturbance,  I  have  only  to 
fire  the  cannon  on  my  Palace-roof,  connected 
wath  my  watch-fob  by  the  Marconi  system, 
and  you  will  at  once  block  the  passes  to 
Eleusis  and  Marathon,  hock  the  horses  in 
the  hipposiderodro}ni  (tramways),  blow  up 
the  suburban  lines,  turn  the  municipal  hose 
on  to  the  main  squares  and  streets,  and 
arrest  every  one  who  cannot  establish  his 
identity  by  the  name  on  his  shirt-collar." 

"  Malista,    Kyrie     (certainly,     honoured 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  63 

Sir),"  replied  the  officials,  as  they  bowed 
themselves  out  backwards. 

Meanwhile,  a  thrill  of  tense  expectation 
animated  the  brilliant  company  that 
thronged  the  reception  rooms.  Suddenly,  up 
the  stairs  of  Pentelican  marble,  ornamented 
with  low  prehistoric  reliefs,  came  a  pene- 
trating whiff  of  ottar  of  patchouli,  followed 
almost  immediately  by  a  full  round  figure, 
with  a  face  radiant  as  a  lark,  and  dewy  as 
Aphrodite  fresh-risen  from  the  foam.  Her 
smile,  which  embraced  everybody,  including 
perfect  strangers,  seemed  to  permeate  her 
whole  being,  from  the  Gainsborough  hat 
(with  its  wreath  of  natural  edelweiss)  to 
the  astrachan  gaiters,  slashed  with  priceless 
ermine. 

"  Dearest  Athena !  "  cried  the  Princess 
Vevifwiski,  as  her  rouged  lips  imprinted  a 
peck,  soft  as  a  dove's,  and  hypocritical  as 
a  hawk's,  on  the  daffodil  complexion  of  the 
full  round  beauty ;  '"  niais,  mon  Dieu,  how 
ravishing  a  toilette,  and  what  blooming 
cheeks !  "  She  spoke  in  fluent  French,  the 
invariable  medium  of  expression  in  the  best 
court  circles. 


64  Borrowed  Plumes 

'  "Who  is  she?"  asked  the  new  English 
Minister,  Lord  Tiro,  addressing  himself  to 
the  Plenipotentiary  Representative  of  the 
United  States. 

"  My !  Not  to  know  her.  Viscount,  argues 
yourself  unknown,"  replied  General  Goatee. 
"  Why,  I  guess  she  just  walks  around  with 
the  Prime  ^Minister  and  runs  this  yere  Gov- 
ernment on  her  own.     Pro-digious !  " 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  English  IMinister,  "  she 
has  a  past.  I  saw  that  at  a  glance.  But  tell 
me,  General,  for  I  am  fresh  to  the  work, 
what  is  the  nature  of  the  ambitions  that 
govern  this  ancient  Hellenic  race  in  regard 
to  their  political  status?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  the  American,  "  I  will  figure 
it  up  for  you  right  here.  Ever  since  that 
Cretan  business  this  one-horse  Government 
has  been  afflicted  with  notions.  They  reckon 
to  rejuvenate  the  Pan'lenic  instinct,  and 
start  fair  again  with  a  slap-up  new  Parthe- 
non. In  view  of  the  im'nent  dissolution  of 
the  Turkish  Empire,  of  which  you,  as  a 
Britisher,  may  not  have  had  any  pre-moni- 
tion,  they  are  pegging  out  moral  claims  on  a 
thickish  slab  of  Thessaly.    That's  so." 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  65 

"  You  astonish  me,"  said  the  Viscount. 
"  My  Government  has  given  me  no  infor- 
mation of  this  contingency.  But  I  shall  have 
my  eyes  open." 

"  A  bright  man,  Sir,  this  Rallipapia,  and 
no  flies  on  him.  Reads  his  Byron  (not  for- 
getting Don  Juan,  you  bet !  )  and  has  mili- 
tary aspirations,  and  means  to  knock  sparks 
out  of  the  European  concert;  if  only  this 
all-fired  Demos  don't  call  his  hand  over  the 
olive-tax." 

"Ah!  the  People!"  said  the  British 
Minister,  pensively,  "  one  has  always  to 
reckon  with  the  People  where  there  is  a 
tradition  of  democracy." 

The  Jubilee  Procession  had  begun.  The 
van  of  the  resplendent  cortege  had  already 
traversed  the  Street  of  Hermes,  wheeled  by 
the  Church  of  Kapnikarea,  and  debouched 
on  the  Square  of  the  Temple  of  the  Winds, 
heading  for  the  sacred  ascent  of  the  Propy- 
laea. 

"Holy  Martyrs!"  cried  Athena,  as  she 
leaned  her  full  round  shape  over  the  balus- 
trade, "  what  a  picture!  See  the  procession, 
how  it  unwinds  its  apparently  interminable 
5 


66  Borrowed  Plumes 

coils  amid  the  nuillitudinous  populace,  and 
bristles  like  a  gigantic  boa-constrictor 
threading  the  countless  ripple  of  the  jungle." 

In  another  moment  she  had  forgotten  the 
sequence  of  her  remarks  in  a  delicious 
ecstasy  of  personal  detail. 

"  There's  a  battalion  of  Euzoni !  "  she 
cried  in  childish  glee,  with  a  flash  of  her 
mulberry  eyes.  "  Look  at  their  Albanian 
uniform,  with  the  fez,  and  the  embroidered 
jacket  with  open  sleeves,  and  the  full  white 
petticoat,  or  fustanella,  and  the  red  shoes 
turned  up  at  the  toes.  That  man  with  the 
grimy  face  is  from  the  mines  at  Laurion, 
where  they  get  from  two  to  twenty  pounds 
of  silver  for  every  ton  of  lead.  And  there's 
the  dear  Metropolitan  himself  in  the  funny 
high  hat!  Fancy  their  calling  the  Paris 
underground  railway  after  him !  And,  oh, 
look!  There's  M.  Zola,  who  writes  novels. 
He's  taking  notes  for  a  volume  on  Athens. 
And  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward,  too,  on  the  same 
tack.  And  there's  the  famous  Signorina 
Marie  CorelH.  That  makes  three.  She 
comes  from  Stratford-on-the-Avon.  Oh, 
yes,  I  was  brought  up  in  England.     And, 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  67 

talking  of  Stratford,  if  there  isn't  the  blessed 
spook  of  Shakspeare!  No,  it  isn't.  It's  the 
great  Master,  Hall  Caine,  with  his  nice  little 
red  Baedeker,  and  a  green  grammar  of 
Modern  Greek.  He's  going  to  otit-Corelli 
the  Signorina.  On  dit,  there  is  no  love  lost 
there.  And  that  makes  four.  All  on  the 
same  tack.  Why,  no  more  English  people 
need  ever  come  to  Athens.  They  can  get  it 
at  the  lending  hihliotJiekes! " 

Her  brilliant  flow  of  comment  flooded  the 
noontide  air,  heavy  with  the  scent  of  honey 
wafted  from  the  purple  slopes  of  Hymettus. 
At  her  back  there  was  that  constant  tittering 
and  whispering  behind  fans  which  is  de 
rigueur  in  the  highest  quarters.  Aspasia 
and  Pompadour  were  among  the  allusive 
names  which  passed  from  lip  to  lip. 

"  And  where,  I  wonder,  is  my  dear 
Anarchist,  the  Honorable  Dotti?  I  know  I 
shall  lose  my  heart  to  him.  And  I  want  him 
so  to  sit  as  a  model  for  Harmodius,  or  else 
Aristogeiton,  who  slew  the  tyrant.  You 
know,  of  course,"  she  cried,  throwing  a 
dazzling  glance  from  her  mulberry  eyes 
upon  the  company,  "  that  I  have  been  asked 


68  Borrowed  Plumes 

by  the  Board  of  Works  to  do  a  fresco  for 
the  wall-paper  of  the  new  Parthenon.  You 
must  all  of  you  come  to  the  private  view." 
The  invitation  was  received  with  well-simu- 
lated rapture.  The  Prime  Minister  had  just 
entered,  twirling  his  moustaches  with  a 
confident  air  of  proprietorship. 

A  quivering  vibration  passed  through  the 
crowd  below,  as  in  a  play  just  before  the 
ghost  comes  on.  This  was  followed  by  a 
muttering,  vague  as  distant  thunder,  faintly 
audible  as  a  tideless  sea.  All  eyes  were 
directed  to  a  figure  that  was  climbing  up  an 
electric  lamp-post  immediately  under  the 
balcony  of  the  Premier's  Palace.  It  was 
Deemster  Dotti.  His  face  was  as  green  as 
an  olive,  yet  as  bold  as  a  beacon. 

"  Euphemeite,  O  politai!  Citizens,  hush 
your  tongues  to  holy  silence!  "  he  began  in 
the  formula  familiar  to  all  in  whom  flowed 
the  blood  of  the  old  Athenian  people.  "  I 
am  not  Demosthenes  that  I  should  declaim 
from  the  Pnyx;  nor  the  Apostle  that  I 
should  address  you  from  the  Areopagus :  but 
the  spirit  of  both  still  animates  me  even  on 
this  precarious  point  of  vantage.     Brothers, 


Mr.  Hall   Caine  69 

we  are  to-day  the  victims  of  a  cruel  farce. 
Under  the  guise  of  restoring  the  fraternal 
beauty  of  an  ancient  Republic,  the  Govern- 
ment, ambitious  of  a  higher  place  in  the 
Councils  of  Europe,  is  but  riveting  more 
firmly  the  fetters  about  your  patient  necks." 

Murmurs  of  dissent  and  approval  floated 
up  from  the  multitude.  "  Kalo  (bravo!  )  " 
"  Siga  (shut  up !)  "     "  Go  it,  cockey !  " 

"  People  of  the  Eternal  City  of  the  Violet 
Crown !  It  is  a  true  Republic  that  we  want 
to  restore,  the  Republic  of  Manhood.  We 
want  no  Kings,  no  Governments,  no  Army, 
no  Navy,  no  Auxiliary  Forces,  no  Fire 
Brigade!  We  want  no  Prime  Minister 
sucking  the  people's  veins  while  he  toys  with 
the  tangles  of  a  Phryne's  locks!  " 

"  Eu !  eu!"  "To  the  crows  with  him!" 
"  Good  old  Dotti !  " 

"  Yet  let  us  not  move  through  rapine  and 
violence  to  noble  ends.  Let  us  simply 
express  opinions.  Let  us  convince  by  moral 
suasion.  Let  our  motto  be — For  Others! 
Everything  for  Everybody  else!  " 

The  peroration,  designedly  conciliatory, 
was  lost  in  the  sudden  roar  of  a  cannon  from 


7©  Borrowed  Plumes 

the  Prime  Minister's  roof.  This  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  terrific  explosion  on  the  down 
line  of  the  Piraeus  railway.  Fountains  of 
red  blood  spurted  from  the  flanks  of  their 
chargers  as  the  mounted  police  bore  down 
upon  the  crowd  with  fixed  carbines.  Hon- 
orable Dotti  had  raised  his  arm  to  implore 
the  people  not  to  resist,  when  a  live  jet  of 
water  from  the  municipal  hose  caught  him 
full  between  the  eyes,  felling  him  to  the  foot 
of  the  lamp-post. 

The  brilliant  gathering  on  the  balcony 
had  melted  away  like  snow  towards  the 
back-door.  As  they  streamed  through  the 
gorgeous  saloons,  tittering  behind  their 
fans,  a  quick  ear  might  have  overheard  a 
ripple  of  the  best  society  gossip.  "  Well,  I 
never!"  "Who'd  have  thought?"  "What'll 
the  boss  do  with  it?  "  "  That's  one  for  the 
minx!  " 

As  the  curtain  fell  upon  this  first  act  of 
the  modern  Athenian  drama,  the  full  round 
form  of  Athena,  her  beauty  strangely 
altered,  was  lying  in  the  Cabinet  Chamber 
prone  across  a  despatch-box.  The  Prime 
Minister   stood   above   her,   still   faultlessly 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  71 

dressed  and  twirling  the  waxed  ends  of  his 
inscrutable  moustaches. 

't^  'i^  T*  'K 

The  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun  fell  in  rich 
blotches  of  golden  glory  on  the  walls  of 
Athena's  studio  underneath  the  Hill  of  the 
Demi-Nymphs.  Palette  in  hand,  her  pre- 
hensile fingers  were  rapidly  blocking  out  in 
the  plastic  clay  the  features  of  the  great 
Athenian  Martyr.  As  the  temperature  of 
her  feelings  towards  her  model  had  moved 
up  from  the  zero  of  hatred  to  the  boiling 
point  (80 "^  Reaumur)  of  passionate  worship, 
so  the  bust  had  successively  represented 
Cleon  (the  brawling  demagogue),  Alcibia- 
des,  Herodotus,  Themistocles,  Aristides,  and 
finally  Socrates  himself.  The  work,  when 
accomplished,  was  to  be  a  pleasant  surprise 
for  the  model,  who  had  always  been  looking 
the  other  way. 

The  door  opened.  "  Honorable  Dotti !  " 
cried  the  butler,  and  withdrew  without 
comment.  The  Deputy  entered  carrying  a 
large  mpaoulo  (trunk)  heavily  padlocked. 
He  gave  a  quiet  sniff  of  satisfaction  as  he 
recognised  the  familiar  perfume  of  patchouli. 


72  Borrowed  Plumes 

Then  silently,  as  if  by  the  force  of  a  habit 
which  he  was  powerless  to  arrest,  he 
stepped  to  the  throne,  wrought  of  Parian 
marble  and  draped  with  Phoenician  byssos 
(a  kind  of  linen,  not  so  diaphanous  as  Coan 
silk)  and  assumed  a  bust-like  attitude  with 
his  back  to  the  artist.  There  was  an  expres- 
sion on  his  face.  It  was  the  spirit  of  out- 
raged Justice.  The  atmosphere  of  the  studio 
tingled  with  suppressed  passion.  As  the 
salient  features  of  Socrates  leaped  into  actu- 
ality under  her  rapid  touch,  it  seemed  to 
Athena  that  she  could  not  resist  the  impulse 
to  infuse  some  of  her  own  superfluous 
warmth  into  the  lifeless  clay.  Furtively  she 
kissed  the  Martyr's  clammy  nose.  It  was 
the  connubial  instinct.  For  the  moment  she 
was  playing  the  part  of  Xantippe. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  Dotti's  voice, 
the  relic  of  a  noble  organ  ruined  by  the  prac- 
tice of  addressing  outdoor  crowds  in  the 
teeth  of  a  brutal  constabulary. 

"  Athena,"  he  said,  "  my  soul  has  learned 
to  trust  in  your  discretion  and  the  purity  of 
your  motives  ever  since  that  hour  in  my 
bachelor  attic  when  you  introduced  yourself 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  73 

to  me  in  an  evening  dress  that  displayed  the 
full  round  ripeness  of  your  youth  and 
beauty.  I  will  now  proceed  to  read  aloud  to 
you  a  little  thing  of  my  own  composition.  It 
is  the  draft  of  a  poster  giving  instructions  to 
the  Great  Over-taxed  how  to  behave  at  our 
mass-meeting  to-morrow  night  under  the 
columns  of  Zeus  Olympios.  For  days  they 
have  been  coming  in  from  far  and  near ;  not 
only  from  Attica  and  the  Peloponnese,  but 
from  the  uttermost  isles  of  the  Archipelago. 
I  ought,  perhaps,  to  say  that  the  splendid 
paradox  of  the  opening  sentence  is  taken 
verbatim  from  the  pen  of  the  Master.  I 
have  printed  the  passage  in  small  caps." 

"  Go  on,  Daniel  Dotti,"  said  Athena. 
"  My  heart  is  with  you.  But  don't  look 
round." 

The  Deputy  took  a  long  breath  and  began. 
Never  had  his  face  so  closely  resembled  the 
Bust  as  at  this  moment. 

"Friends,  Athenians,  Countrymen!  the 

SKY  IS  DARK,  THE  HEAVENS  ARE  VOID,  WE 
ARE  TRAVELLING  BENEATH  THE  STORM- 
CLOUD.  Yet  it  has  the  customary  silver 
lining.     It  is  the  dawn  of  the  Milky  Way, 


74  Borrowed  Plumes 

though  still  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand. 
Come,  tJien,  to  the  Olyjiipieion  in  your 
myriads,  leaving  behind  your  poniards  and 
shot-guns.  Let  each  man  wear  his  own  hair 
-with  a  simple  branch  of  olive  tzuined  about  it. 
It  shall  be  at  once  a  symbol  of  Peace,  and  a 
protest  against  tJie  olive-tax.  Do  not  provoke 
violence.  The  hired  soldiers,  themselves 
your  down-trodden  brothers,  zvonld  be 
reluctantly  tempted  to  retaliate.  Do  nothing, 
or  you  will  surely  be  done  by.  Simply 
assemble  and  talk.  Better  still,  just  listen  to 
me.  Respect  property.  Pay  honour  to 
vested  interests.  Remember  Thermopylce! 
Remember  Salaniis!  To-morrow  after  dark; 
say  about  8.30.  Daniel  Dotti/' 

"Beautiful,  isn't  it?"  cried  Athena. 
"  And  now  tell  me  something  about  your 
past.  I  feel  I  must  have  met  you  in  another 
and  a  better  world."  There  was  a  passionate 
appeal  in  her  mulberry  eyes.  "  My  child," 
enquired  Dotti,  "  are  you  strong  enough  to 
bear  the  truth?"  "Try  me,"  she  said. 
With  that,  having  drawn  down  the  blinds, 
he  extracted  from  the  trunk  a  phono-cine- 
mato-biograph   with   oxy-hydrogen   lantern 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  y^ 

complete.  Fixing  them  in  position,  he 
cleared  his  throat  and  started : — 

"  Constantly  harried  by  the  police  in  my 
capacity  of  Friend  of  Man,  yet  never,  even 
in  my  most  rapid  movements — even  when 
my  very  boots  were  an  impediment — have  I 
consented  to  part  with  this  ingeniously 
complicated  instrument,  my  sole  memento  of 
the  noblest  Exile  I  ever  clapped  eyes  on." 

Athena's  attention  had  now  become  seri- 
ously diverted  from  the  Bust. 

"  The  victim  of  his  virtues,  he  was  placed 
in  what  is  invariably  known  as  domicilio 
coatto  (confinement)  on  a  sea-bound  island. 
There,  loaded  with  chains,  and  guarded  day 
and  night  by  heavy  dragoons  with  drawn 
sabres,  he  ultimately  perished.  That  man 
was  your  father! " 

Athena's  palette  fell  from  her  nerveless 
grasp. 

"  I  now  turn  on  the  gas,  and  both  the 
dead  and  the  dead-alive  will  appear.  The 
scene  before  you  represents  Trafalgar 
Square.  Victorious  troops  from  Egypt  are 
marching  by.  They  have  just  detrained  at 
Charing  Cross.     I  suppose  they  must  have 


76  Borrowed  Plumes 

come  overland  as  far  as  Calais  or  Boulogne. 
You  will  notice  the  Exiled  Philanthropist 
with  a  bright  little  girl  and  a  handsome 
Greek  boy,  the  latter  holding  a  stuffed  squir- 
rel on  wheels  by  a  string." 

A  sudden  tremor  passed  through  Athena's 
limbs.  It  shook  her  easel,  displacing  the 
Bust,  which  fell  nose-downwards  with  a 
thud  to  the  floor.  Where  it  fell,  there  it 
stuck. 

"  The  Philanthropist  addresses  the  boy. 
*  Daniel  Leonidas,'  he  says,  '  listen  to  the 
band!'  The  drums  and  fifes  are  passing; 
they  are  playing  TJie  Girl  I  left  behind  me! 
The  little  maid  is  speaking  to  the  Philan- 
thropist. '  Papa,'  she  asks,  '  is  dey  playing 
Kin  gum  tiimf 

Athena's  knees  were  going  under  her. 
She  sank  down  uneasily  on  the  moist  clay  of 
the  prostrate  chef  d'wiivre. 

"  I  never  rightly  understood,"  continued 
Dotti,  "  wdiy  she  could  manage  the  guttural 
in  the  word  Kingdom,  and  yet  failed  to  pro- 
nounce it  in  the  word  come.  But  let  that 
pass.  Now  the  gentleman  hails  a  four- 
wheeler.      'Soho!'  he  cries.     'What  ho!' 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  ']'] 

answers  the  cabman.  '  5"o-ho ! '  replies  the 
Exile  with  grave  courtesy." 

Athena  could  bear  no  more.  "  But  sure- 
ly," she  cried,  "  my  father  never  made  a 
joke?" 

"  Not  consciously,"  replied  Dotti.  "  I 
learned  much  from  him  in  that  respect.  I 
owe  him  a  great  debt." 

"  But  who  is  the  little  Leonidas  in  the 
picture?  " 

''Ego  o  idios  (I  myself)!  Dotti  is  an 
alias." 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  cried  Athena.  *'  To 
me,  whatever  your  real  name,  you  will  never 
be  anything  but  dotty!  "  She  smiled  shyly 
at  her  own  wit,  and  flung  herself  upon  his 
answering  chest. 

-i*  't*  *!*  ^ 

Dearest  Husband, — For  are  we  not  man 
and  wife  in  all  except  actual  fact? — Ever 
since  you  left  me  at  the  church-door  at  4 
A.M.  this  morning  in  a  red  wig  and  top- 
boots,  so  as  to  elude  the  cordon  of  detectives, 
I  have  been  wondering  what  you  had  for 
breakfast.  I  say  to  myself,  "  Why  does  he 
hold  such  perilous  opinions?  "     And  then  I 


yS  Borrowed  Plumes 

remember  that  I  have  promised  to  be  your 
true  Httle  help-meet. 

All  the  police  are  asking  one  another 
"Have  you  seen  Honorable  Dotti?"  The 
crowds  are  restive  and  want  to  go  home. 
Throughout  the  night  the  troops  were  raking 
them  with  shot  and  shell;  but  the  list  of 
casualties  is  smaller  than  we  anticipated. 
One  milch-goat  from  the  Stadion  killed  by  a 
15-pounder,  and  a  Member  of  the  Bottle 
(Parliament)  bitten  by  a  stray  dog  in  the 
Street  of  Victory. 

Your  loving  Athena. 

Ht  5k  H=  * 

My  Dear  Daniel  Dotti^ — Of  course  it 
is  splendid  having  love-letter  after  love-letter 
from  you,  full  of  such  beautiful  language 
about  the  Republic  of  Man,  and  telling  me 
how  you  have  got  the  greater  part  of  Europe 
to  agree  with  you.  But  I  was  a  little  jealous 
of  the  Parisian  ladies.  I  feel  happier  now 
you  are  in  Berlin.  I  have  had  all  your 
placards  put  up ;  and,  as  you  must  have  fore- 
seen, am  soon  going  to  prison  for  it.  I  am 
dying  to  have  you  back ;  but  still,  don't  you 
think  that  Athens  mav  be  a  little  warm  for 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  79 

you?  You  see,  it  is  only  quite  a  short  time 
since  you  left,  and  some  of  the  detectives 
remember  names  and  faces  so  curiously  well. 
Or,  are  you  coming  back  in  the  red  wig"  and 
a  new  nom  de  giicrre  ?  I  feel  so  excited. 
Your  faithful  little  Wife. 


"  Dearest,"  said  Athena,  as  she  lay  limply 
in  Dotti's  arms,  "  I  am  so  glad  that  I  lived 
long  enough  to  see  your  hour  of  triumph, 
and  share  your  joy  at  the  Abolition  of  Hier- 
archies. How  our  poor  human  methods  are 
but  as  clay  or  plasticene  in  the  hands  of  a 
Higher  Destiny !  You  hoped  to  attain  your 
end  by  peaceful  means.  I  dare  not  think 
how  long  this  might  have  taken.  But  now 
you  have  succeeded  in  a  moment  by  the 
simple  murder  of  a  Prime  Minister — no, 
no,  dearest.  I  know  it  was  only  manslaugh- 
ter  " 

"  Athena !  "  cried  Dotti,  hoarsely,  "  do 
not  mention  it.  Have  I  not  abjured  the 
guerdon  of  that — of  that  regrettable  inci- 
dent? Elected  this  day  to  the  Presidency  of 
the  New  Republic,  my  motto  is  still  Every- 


8o  Borrowed  Plumes 

thing  for  Everybody  else.    As  usual,  I  efface 
myself." 

Epilogue. 

It  was  a  summer  evening.  Kaspari's  work 
was  done.  Beside  his  cottage  door,  on  the 
hills  above  j\Iegara,  the  fine  old  shepherd 
was  sitting  in  the  sun.  He  had  just  returned 
from  Athens,  after  a  one-day  excursion. 

"Papous!  (grandpapa),"  cried  little 
Petrokinos,  "  what  is  that  you  have  in  your 
pocket,  so  large  and  smooth  and  round?  " 

"  My  child,"  replied  Kaspari,  "  'tis  a 
present  from  Athens  for  a  good  boy.  'Tis  a 
bit  of  the  Bust  of  the  great  Dotti !  " 

With  that  he  drew  forth  a  cast  of  the 
lately-discovered  fragment  of  a  portrait  head 
which  that  day  had  been  set  up,  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  massed  bands  of  all 
available  Brotherhoods,  on  the  tomb  of 
Athena  in  the  Potters'  Quarter  (Keramei- 
kos). 

"  Who  was  Dotti,  grandpapa  ?  " 

"Dotti,  mv  boy?  why  that's  ages  ago, 
back  in  the  early  part  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury, before  they  did  away  with  Kings  and 


Mr.  Hall  Caine  8i 

Boundaries,  and  such-like  relics  of  bar- 
barism." 

"  Is  it  a  pretty  story,  grandpapa  ?  "  asked 
the  boy  wistfully. 

"  That's  a  matter  of  taste,  my  child," 
replied  the  old  man;  "but  I  know  it's  a 
d d  long  one." 


VI. 

MISS  MARIE  CORELLI. 

[Choice  Sayings.] 

Surely  there  is  Something,  if  we  could 
but  find  out  what  it  is.  O  unfathomable 
deeps ! 

;Jc  ^  jjc  :{c 

Each  of  our  actions,  however  seemingly 
trivial,  is  a  link  in  the  chain  of  moral  and 
physical  evolution.  Try  to  rise  from  your 
bed  without  having  first  lain  down,  and  you 
will  discover,  all  too  late,  how  indispensable 
is  the  value  of  the  missing  link. 

*  *  *  * 

Methinks  that  we  whom  the  gods  hold 
dear  are  not  the  last  to  die.  And  what, 
indeed,  were  their  immortal  existence  if  reft 
of  love?  'Twere  as  a  Hamlet-play  without 
the  essential  pervading  Spirit. 

9JC  5(C  3^C  3fC 

82 


Miss  Marie  Corelli 

ories  ii 
tent  with  Genius 


Man  glories  in  titles.     A  woman  is  con- 


't^  't^  -K  -K 

What  is  this  tiny  terrestrial  ball  as  com- 
pared with  the  vast  invisible  Universe?  It 
is  a  mote,  a  bubble,  a  gnat  in  the  Great 
Inane. 

5j?  5|<  ^  T* 

Oggi!  Oggt!  cry  the  ice-cream  wayfarers 
from  far  Campanian  hills.  To-day !  To- 
day !  How  true !  There  is  no  time  precisely 
like  the  present.  The  past  is  over ;  the  future 
yet  to  be. 

*  *  *  * 

It  is  the  curse  of  existence  that  we  are 
compelled  to  keep  silence.  The  heart's  blood 
pulses,  yet  we  must  hide  it  from  the  crowd. 
So  great  is  the  numbing,  stifling  influence  of 
convention.  How  seldom  can  we  be  our- 
selves ! 

*  *  *  * 
What   is  the   Good?     And   what   is   the 

Beautiful  ?  Who  can  say  ?  All  we  know  is 
that  both  terms  are  synonymous,  the  one 
quite  as  much  as  the  other. 

>f»  9fC  >)C  ^ 


84  Borrowed  Plumes 

Science  is  but  the  confession  of  man's 
ignorance.  Art,  with  a  few  exceptions,  is 
the  effort  of  woman,  everywhere  clogged 
and  thwarted,  to  express  herself. 

*  *  *  5k 

The  mighty  Ocean  may  run  dry  in  the 
far-off  to-be ;  but  the  welling  tears  of  Beelze- 
bub flow  on  for  ever. 

*  *  *  * 

If  we  could  only  understand  all  mysteries, 
then  the  Ultimate  Cause  would  become  plain 
to  the  intelligence  of  the  meanest  critic. 
^  ^  ^  ^ 

We  are  as  swimmers,  cast  upon  the 
dilemma-horns  of  two  swift  currents.  Each 
stroke  for  the  True  bears  us  upward  and 
onward ;  each  surmounted  rung  of  the  ladder 
makes  the  next  but  easier,  especially  if  we 
bear  others  with  us. 

5^  jK  He  ^ 

Is  there  not  in  us  women  an  infinite 
capacity  for  the  Transcendent  ?  Touch  that 
slumbering  molecule  with  the  right  spark, 
and  a  heavenly  flame  shoots  up,  beaconing 
the  mariner  to  port. 

^:  :^  :fc  ;)c 


Miss  Marie  Corelli  85 

What  is  it,  that  ethereal  essence  which 
permeates  our  mortal  frame  to  the  finger- 
tips, and  colours  our  daily  existence  as  with 
rainbow-hues?  Is  it  a  conundrum?  Goto! 
Know  thyself! 

^  5(C  5fC  ^ 

It  is  not  the  frank,  glaring  vulgarity  of 
the  masses  which  sets  a  furrowed  frown 
upon  the  stern  forehead  of  the  Thinker. 
Rather  it  is  the  enervating  Hedonism  of  the 
epicurean  aristocrat,  that  insidious  poison 
which  slowly  undermines  society.  A  de- 
generate world,  my  masters ! 

T^  5jC  3jC  5jC 

When  woman  rises  to  her  true  stature, 
and  shakes  off  the  strangulation-gripe  of  the 
harem,  she  is  said  to  be  "  unsexed." 

^  ^  5l<  -fC 

What  avails  it  to  throw  the  jewels  of 
Genius  to  a  swinish  public,  when  the  afore- 
said herd  loves  best  to  wallow  in  an  oUa- 
podrida  of  filthy  rags? 

*  *  *  * 

The  age  is  ennuye.  It  has  grown  tired  of 
the  wise,  pure,  poetic  ideals  of  Greece  and 
Rome.     The  day-dreams  of  a  Sapho  or  a 


86  Borrowed  Plumes 

Juvenal  are  accounted  less  piquant  than  the 
ugly  facts  of  an  Old  Kent  Road.  \\'ho  was 
it  that  said,  O  Tempora  ?  and,  again,  O 
Mores? 

y^  y^  yf.  yf- 

Nous  avons  soif!  It  is  the  cry  of  human- 
ity peering  into  the  unsearchable  wells  of 
Truth.  "  Who,  who,"  it  asks,  like  the 
Danaids  of  yore,  "  has  put  a  rift  within  the 
bucket  ?      We   would   drink !     Nous   avons 

soif! " 

■jf.  -^  ^  '^ 

What  is  criticism  ?  It  is  the  earth-serpent 
Jealousy,  that  goes  upon  its  belly,  leaving  a 
slimy  trail  upon  the  springing  Tree  of 
Knowledge  to  which  it  may  never  hope  to 
climb. 

*  *  *  * 

What  a  terrible  gift  is  this  of  unerring 
insight !  To  read  Sham  at  a  glance :  to  dive 
beneath  the  white-wash  of  Superficiality :  to 
recognise,  as  the  outside  critic  never  can, 
the  limits  of  one's  own  creations;  all  this  is 
to  feel  the  exquisite  torture  of  an  archangel 
temporarily  confined  in  an  earthly  pig-sty. 


Miss  Marie  Corelli  87 

Noel!  What  thoughts,  what  emotions  the 
little  word  awakes!  It  is  the  French  for 
Christmas ! 

*  *  *  * 

Listen,  I  say,  to  the  pure,  sweet,  passionate 
idylls  of  the  birds !  Is  there  not  a  tacit 
reproach  in  the  lyric  of  the  lark?  Does  not 
the  psean  of  the  bull-finch  make  you  blush? 
They  do  not  throttle  one  another  in  a  sordid 
struggle  on  the  Stock  Exchange ;  or  mar  the 
beauty  of  creation  with  petty  theories  of 
Science,  so-called. 

>1;  jj;  ^  >fc 

You  ask  me  why  I  am  so  modest.  No 
great  Artist  regards  her  work  as  her  own. 
She  is  but  the  inspired  medium.  And  when 
her  labour  attains  fruition  it  passes  from  her 
possession  and  becomes  the  heritage  of  all 
time.  She  may  admire  it  with  whole  heart  ; 
but  only  as  one  of  the  crowd,  the  unnum- 
bered atoms  of  humanity. 

*  *  *  * 

A  dog  has  more  honesty  and  good  faith 
than  a  man.  That  is  why  we  pay  an  annual 
penalty  for  keeping  dogs.  Yet  you  may 
shelter  a  man-tyrant  under  your  roof,  and 


88  Borrowed  Plumes 

pay  nothing  for  the  privilege,  except  in  hot, 
indignant   tears,   wrung   from  you  by  vile 
oppression  and  the  viler  counterfeit  of  love. 
*  *  *  * 

The  year,  not  less  than  the  month,  the 
week,  the  day,  must  eventually  pass  and  be 
no  more.  The  Temporal  can  never  outlive 
the  Eternal. 


VII. 

MR.  DOOLEY. 

[Period:  August,  1900.] 

"  I  HEAR-R  they'se  a  gr-reat  chanst  iv  a 
Gin'ral  Diss'lution  if  th'  weath'r  on'y  kapes 
on,"  says  th'  Sicrety  iv  th'  Lib'ral  Cork's,  in 
conf  rence  with  th'  Cla-ark  iv  th'  Meech'- 
rollogy  Departmint.  "  They  was  a  platf'm 
onst  again  th'  war-r,  but'  tis  broke,"  says  he, 
"  an'  th'  Lib'ral  Parthy's  f'r  paintin'  itsilf 
thrne  kha-arky.  Ivery  candydate's  got  t'  be 
a  sojer  or  a  sailor  or  a  war-r  cor-r'spondhunt 
or  ilse  a  horsp't'l  ordherly,"  says  he.  Cap. 
Lambd'h'n's  r-runnin'  f'r  Newcastle  on  th' 
Dimmycratic  tick't;  an'  th'  champeen  Bad- 
hen  Pole  '11  swape  th'  boord  at  Hyde  Park 
Cor-rner,  th'  hotbed  iv  th'  ray-acshun'ry 
il'ment,"  says  he;  "  onless  he  furrst  ascinds 
to  th'  House  iv  Payrs,"  says  he.  "  Th'  ole 
counthry  '11  be  recrooted  fr'm  th'  Mull'gan 
89 


90  Borrowed  Plumes 

Gyards,  an'  th"  iliction  expinses  paid  be  a 
sprinklin'  iv  pathrites  fr'm  th'  Ph'lippeens. 
'Tis  pity  th't  th'  wan  Lib'ral  Mimber  at  th' 
Front  's  pr'vinted  fr'm  attindin'  be  th'  call  iv 
jooty,"  says  he.  "  I  dinnaw  what  '11  be  th' 
price  iv  a  loan  iv  a  Lion's  Skin  or  a  Rid 
Insign,  but  they'se  a  tur-rble  sthrain  on  th' 
ma-ark't  alriddy,  an'  th'  German  houses 
enable  t'  ex'cute  fur-rther  ordhers  f'r  th' 
prisint,"  says  he. 

^  :-j  ^  ^ 

"  An'  what  '11  be  th'  name  iv  ye'er  new 
wather-choobe  boilers  ? "  says  th'  Pos'- 
masth'r-Gin'ral. 

"Bellvill,"  says  th'  Fur-rst  Lord  iv  th' 
Adm'r-lty. 

"  An'  a  fine  proshpect  f'r  th'  public,"  says 
Lond'ndherry,  "  if  they'se  annything  in  a 
name,"  says  he. 

"  An'  what  might  be  th'  addhriss  iv  ye'er 
new  sorthin'  ofif'ce,"  says  Mr.  Goosh'n. 

"  Mount  Plisant,"  says  Lond'ndherry. 

"  'Tis  another  fine  proshpect  f'r  th'  pub- 
lic," says  Mr.  Goosh'n. 

*  *  *  * 

"  ril   not  have   conscr-ription,"   says  th' 


Mr.  Dooley  91 

Undher  Sicrety  iv  War-r.  "  'Tis  a  free 
counthry,"  says  he,  "  an'  not  wan  iv  thim 
slave-dhrivin'  European  monno-polies,"  says 
he.  "  It  's  mesilf  th't  's  all  f'r  kindness  an' 
th'  Volunth'ry  systh'm,"  he  says.  "  They'se 
a  power  iv  good  Threes' ry  goold  been 
squandhered  on  th'  Orxill'ry  For-rces,  an' 
they  done  splendid,"  says  he.  "  But  it's 
mighty  onconvanient  f'r  th'  Sthrateejans  not 
t'  know  what  la-ads  they  have  t'  dipind  upon 
t'  fight  f'r  th'  flag  again  th'  naygers,"  says 
he,  "  whin  th'  squaze  comes  all  iv  a  suddint,'' 
says  he.  "  I'd  have  voluntheerin'  made 
com-puls'ry,  same  's  th'  Rig'lars;  so's  ye 
may  know  whar  y'  ar-re,"  says  he.  "  It'd  be 
conthrairy  t'  th'  undherlyin'  princ'ples  iv 
th'  sarv'ce,"  says  Mr.  Arn'l'  Forsth'r.  "  An' 
a  sop  t'  Cerbeerius,"  says  Sorr  Hinnery,  "  t' 
give  thim  th'  chanst  t'  clane  the'er  dirthy 
lin'n  in  privat,"  says  he.  "  If  I'd  on'y 
known,"  says  th'  Undher  Sicrety  iv  War-r, 
"  th't  me  proposh'l  'd  cause  oflince,  I'd  've 
dhropped  it  b'fore  I  took  it  up,"  says  he. 
An'  he  dhropped  it. 

*  *  *  * 

"  I'll  not  intertain  th'  disthressfull  dilly- 


92  Borrowed  Plumes 

gates  on  mass,"'  saA'S  th'  Chairm'n  iv  th' 
Gr-reat  Easth'n  Comp'ny.  "  Lave  thini  come 
be  twos  an'  threes,"  says  he,  "  an'  I'll  dish- 
coorse  with  thim  sip'rate,"  says  he.  "  'Tis  a 
livin'  wage  they'se  shtrikin'  for,  is  it?  An' 
how^  manny  times  will  I  till  ye  th't  th'  livin' 
wage  's  not  th'  consarn  iv  th'  Comp'ny,  nor 
th'  gin'ral  con-vanience  iv  the  public  nay- 
ther,"  says  he;  "it's  th'  inthrests  iv  th' 
div'dhends,"  says  he,  "  same's  a  Sugar 
Thrust.  They'se  some  'd  have  us  ray-form 
th'  thrack,"  says  he,  "  an'  clane  out  th' 
ca-ars,  an'  mop  up  th'  dirt  iv  Fenchurch  St. 
Depot ,  an'  sim'lar  couns'ls  iv  per-fiction. 
What  nixt  ?  "  says  he. 

^  ^  ^  5k 

"  Were  ye  iver  in  a  sha-am  fight  't  Alder- 
shot?  "  says  I,t'  a  Corp'ral  iv  th'  Inn'skillin's 
fr'm  th'  front. 

"  I  was,"  says  he. 

"  An'  does  't  bear  anny  ray-sim-blance  to 
th'  field  iv  ca-arnage?"  says  I. 

"  Savin'  thransp't  an'  th'  sunsthroke,  it 
does  not,"  says  he. 

"  Do  they  dhress  y'  up  f'r  it?  "  says  I. 

"  In  invis'ble  rid,"  says  he. 


Mr.  Dooley  93 

"  An'  do  they  not  larn  ye  to  take  cover?  " 
says  I. 

"  'Twud  be  playin'  hide-'n-sake  on  a  goluf 
green,"  says  he. 

"An'  is  they  niver  an  ambushcade?" 
says  I. 

"  Divvle  a  wan,"  says  he,  "  with  both 
parthies  knowin'  ivery  inch  iv  th'  ground  be 
hear-rt,  an'  th'  nixt  move  rig'lated  be  th' 
Gover'mint  rools,"  says  he. 

"  Have  y'  no  wurrud  iv  difinse  f  r  th' 
systh'm?  "  says  I. 

"  'Tis  a  gr-rand  thrainin'  f  r  bein'  kih," 
says  he.  "  Thrue  f  r  ye,  they'se  not  anny 
better  matarial  th'n  th'  British  inf'nthry  be 
rayson  iv  the-er  cour'ge  an'  dog-headness ; 
but  'tis  th'  insthruction  th't  makes  thim  th' 
finest  ta-arg't  in  th'  wurruld,"  says  he. 

jjc  ;Jc  ^  i]C 

"  Have  ye  anny  notion  iv  th'  Far-r 
Easth'n  question,"  says  O'Leary. 

"  I  have,"  says  I ;  "  but  'tis  inthr'cate. 
Fur-rst,  ye  see,  they'se  th'  Boxers.  Thim  's 
pathrites,"  says  I,  "  same's  th'  Moon- 
lighthers ;  an'  be  that  token  th'  Chiny  Gov- 
er'mint 's  again  thim,  and  thrates  thim  's 


94  Borrowed  Plumes 

in'mies.  But  they'se  both  again  th'  furrin 
divvies,  an'  'tis  why  th'  Chiny  Gover'mint 
thrates  thim  's  frinds.  An'  th'  'hed  Powers 
're  frinds  with  th'  Chiny  Gover'mint  whin  it 
's  again  th'  pathrites;  an'  in'mies  whin  it  's 
not  again  thim;  an'  'twud  shoot  th'  Powers 
fine  t'  be  frinds  again  th'  common  in'my," 
says  I,  "  if  on'y  they  wasn't  nath'ral-bor-rn 
in'mies  iv  wan  another  fr'm  th'  commince- 
mint,"  says  I.  "  Ye  follow  me  argyments?  " 
says  I. 

"I  do,"  says  he;  "an'  the  poor  down- 
throdden  crayther  has  me  thrue  symp'thy." 

"Who's  that?"  says  I. 

"  Th'  Sult'n,  iv  coorse,"  says  he. 


VIII. 
MR.  HENRY  HARLAND. 
[The  Cardinal's  Snuif-box.] 

For  the  garden  of  a  chalet,  picked  up  on 
the  word  of  a  baihff's  advertisement,  with 
never  an  asterisk  in  Baedeker  to  guarantee 
the  Aussicht,  it  was  not  so  bad  a  spot  to 
drink  beer  in  under  a  July  sun,  very  aperitive 
to  the  pores. 

At  Peter's  feet  swept  the  Rhine  in  a 
swirling  rush  of  molten  lead,  gathering 
speed,  compressing  its  flanks,  for  the  rapids 
below  Lauffenburg.  Across  the  river,  be- 
yond the  feathery  slopes  of  the  castle- 
grounds,  the  forest  uplands  of  Baden 
stretched,  ridge  above  ridge  of  pine,  oak, 
larch,  northwards  to  the  bastioned  heights  of 
Menzenschwand,  vague,  symbolic,  impal- 
pable on  the  horizon's  verge. 

A  schoolboy  memory  of  the  Muse  beat 
95 


96  Borrowed  Plumes 

importunate  on  his  brain.  "  Positively,"  he 
thought,  "  what  with  the  river,  the  lawns, 
the  pines,  and  a  fair  substitute  for  topmost 
Gargarus,  the  scene  might  be  sitting  for  a 
photogravure  ilhistration  of  CEnone.  Not,  of 
course,  a  perfect  analogy.  Thus,  the  Rhine 
at  this  stage  is  somewhat  bulky  for  the  exer- 
cise of  '  falling  through  the  clov'n  ravine  in 
cataract  after  cataract --'  " 

But  he  had  only  got  as  far  as  the  second 
cataract,  when — "  You  find  the  view  a  touch 
too  chromographic?"  The  voice  was  female, 
but  of  a  fine  distinction,  of  a  full,  rich, 
contralto  resonance,  to  rival  the  roar  of  the 
intervening  flood. 

Involuntarily  Peter  rose  and  bowed  to  the 
opposite  bank.  A  lovely  phantom  met  his 
glance,  clear-cut,  crisp-edged,  dazzling  white 
against  the  peacock-green  of  her  environ- 
ment. For  a  brief  minute,  crowded  with 
dim  recognition,  incredulity,  triumphant 
assurance,  Peter  was  beside  himself,  and 
neither  of  him  could  find  an  answer  to  the 
lady's  preamble.  Oh,  but  with  good  excuse, 
for  was  not  this  her  first  word  with  Peter? 
Thus  far,  he  had  only  seen  her  in  public  at 


Mr.  Henry  Harland  97 

varying  distances,  had  had  no  speech  of  her, 
had  just  surmised  her  enough  to  make  her 
the  heroine  of  his  novel. 

"  You  find  it  somewhat  arranged,  crude, 
obvious?  "  she  asked  in  EngHsh;  oh,  yes,  in 
quite  good  EngHsh. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  had  pronounced  it  a 
Tennysonian  harmony."  Peter  spoke  with 
an  outward  aplomb;  but  his  heart  was 
beating  just  anywhere  between  his  boots  and 
his  Homburg  hat. 

"Ah,  yes,"  she  said,  "you  alhide  to 
(Enone.  An  admirable  classic."  Her  man- 
ner, as  if  inured  to  dialectic,  might  have 
confessed  her  a  Girtonian,  but  for  a  some- 
thing, an  I-know-not-what  of  banter  in  her 
left  eyelid,  scarce  perceptible  across  the 
estranging  river. 

"  I  admit  the  analogy  to  be  imperfect," 
replied  Peter. 

"  By  the  way,"  she  said,  "  I  hope  that  the 
chalet  answers  fairly  to  the  terms  of  my 
advertisement;  that  you  don't  think  the 
photographs  were  cooked."  Again,  the  slight 
depression  of  the  azure-veined  left  lid.  Then, 
with  a  valedictory  bow  and  in  the  easiest 
7 


98  Borrowed  Plumes 

possible  manner — "  Please  let  me  know  if 
the  drains  go  wrong.    Good  evening." 

"  An  adorable  creature,"  he  reflected,  as 
the  crisp-edged  vision  of  whiteness  vanished 
up  the  lawns.  "  What  a  nerve,  what  intui- 
tion, what  femininity! " 


"  Will  the  High-born  have  yet  another 
beer?"  It  was  the  Swiss  maid,  waisted  like 
a  young  cedar,  stolidly  flamboyant  in  her 
local  finery. 

"  Gretchen,"  answered  Peter  abstractedly 
in  English,  "  to  cite  the  words  of  our  late 
immortal  laureate,  on  whom  we  have  already 
touched  allusively,  '  the  truth,  that  flies  the 
flowing  can,  will  haunt  the  vacant  cup.'  At 
present  I  shrink  from  truth ;  I  would  soar 
on  the  pinions  of  Daedalean  presumption. 
You  do  not  chance  to  keep  any  hashish  on 
the  premises?  " 

"  Bitte,  mcin  Herr?" 

"  Ja  ivohl,  noch  cin  Glas  Bier.  And, 
Gretchen,"  he  continued  in  the  vernacular, 
"  tell  me  who  lives  opposite." 


Mr.  Henry  Harland  99 

"  The  noblest  Sir  does  not  know  ?  It  is 
Her  Serene  Widowhood,  the  Herzogin  von 
Basel-Basel." 

"Her  Widowhood!"  murmured  Peter, 
greatly  relieved. 

"  Her  Serene  Widowhood,"  Gretchen  cor- 
rected. 

"  Implying  a  superiority  to  the  need  of 
consolation?"  asked  Peter. 

"  Bittef  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  more  beer,  Gretchen ;  do  not 
hesitate  to  bring  me  more  beer." 


Ten  days  later  Peter  sat  in  the  garden 
trying  vainly  to  make  copy  out  of  his 
despair.  Behind  him  swept  the  Rhine  in  a 
swirling  rush  of  molten  lead,  gathering 
speed,  compressing  its  flanks,  for  the  nar- 
rows below  the  village.  An  agitated  dachs- 
hund was  tracking  water-vermin  with 
plaintive  whines. 

"  Is  the  dog  attached  to  you  ?  "  The  voice 
was  female,  but  of  a  fine  distinction,  of  a 
rich,  ripe,  contralto  resonance,  transilient 
across  the  roar  of  the  river. 


loo  Borrowed  Plumes 

Peter  started  to  his  feet.  His  heart  was 
still  volatile;  but  this  time  he  was  more 
prepared,  composed,  alert.  "  In  the  absence 
of  other  diversions,  he  consents  to  be  aware 
of  my  propinquity,"  he  replied.  "  But  for 
the  moment  he  is  preying  upon  his  fellow- 
brute." 

"  An  illustration  of  the  universal  law  of 
Nature?  "  she  asked,  with  an  air  of  serious 
detachment.  But  there  was  a  something,  an 
I-really-hardly-know-what  of  badinage  in 
her  smile. 

"  So  careful  of  the  type,  so  careless  of  the 
single  life,"  replied  Peter.  Loverlike,  he 
was  eager  to  improve  the  occasion,  to  expand 
himself  in  the  profundities  of  dogma. 

"  Have  you  observed,"  he  continued, 
"  that  in  this  incessant  war  of  pursuer  and 
pursued,  the  nobler  the  nature  of  the  animal 
the  greater  the  modification  he  undergoes  by 
his  ignoble  employ?  The  rat  himself  pursues 
a  yet  inferior  class  of  vermin,  and  in  the 
process  becomes  but  negligibly  deformed. 
The  dachshund,  on  the  other  hand,  degener- 
ates into  a  mere  abortion,  a  caricature  of  a 
dog.    Is  not  here  a  premonitory  warning  for 


Mr.  Henry  Harland         loi 

the  highest  form  of  Nature — I  refer  to 
Humanity?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  you  are  much,  much  too 
clever  for  me.  But  I  am  nothing  if  not  a 
child  of  Nature;  so  I  shall  harden  my  heart 
and  go  on  '  still  achieving,  still  pursuing.' 
Some  people  like  being  pursued,  is  it  not 
so?  "  And  on  the  word  she  had  withdrawn 
before  Peter's  density  could  compose  a  perti- 
nent retort. 

"  What  a  nerve,"  he  mused,  "  what  intui- 
tion, what  Weihlichkeit! " 


The  first  touch  of  autumn  was  on  the 
valley,  as  Peter  crossed  the  castle-lawns  to 
take  his  last  leave  of  the  Herzogin.  Her 
creed  he  might  have  contrived  to  adopt,  but 
there  was  no  getting  over  this  eternal  offence 
of  her  title  and  her  wealth.  The  lady  was 
above  him  and  away.  It  was  the  old  tale  of 
Queen  Kate  of  Cornaro  and  the  page-boy, 
that  "  pined  for  the  grace  of  her  so  far  above 
his  power  of  doing  good  to." 

As  for  the  view,  its  general  features  were 


I02  Borrowed  Plumes 

practically  unchanged.  Beyond  the  feathery 
slopes  of  the  castle-grounds  the  great  forest 
uplands  of  Baden  stretched,  ridge  above 
ridge  of  pine,  larch,  oak,  northwards  to  the 
bastioned  heights,  &c. 

A  schoolboy  memory  of  the  IMuse  beat 
importunate  upon  his  brain.  "  Positively," 
he  thought,  "  what  with  the  river,  the  lawns, 
the  pines,  and  the  best  of  substitutes  for  top- 
most Gargarus  "  {repeat,  as  above,  down  to 
the  zi'ords,  "cataract  after  cataract") 

But  he  had  only  got  as  far  as  the  second 

"  cataract,"  when "  You  find  the  view 

a  touch  too  chromographic  ?  " 

Peter  started  and  bowed  to  a  gracious 
phantom  of  whiteness,  crisp-cut,  clean- 
edged,  on  a  rustic  seat.  His  heart  was 
beating  just  anywhere  between  his  boots  and 
his  Homburg  hat.  Oh,  but  with  good 
excuse,  for  Peter  was  in  love,  but  very  very 
much  in  love. 

"  You  find  it  somewhat  arranged,  crude, 
obvious?  "  she  asked. 

"  On  the  contrary  I  had  pronounced  it  a 
Tennysonian  harmony." 

"  Ah,    yes,"    she    said,    "  you    allude    to 


Mr.  Henry  Harland  103 

(Enone.  An  admirable  classic."  Her  man- 
ner, as  if  inured  to  dialectic,  might  have 
confessed  her  a  Girtonian.  But  there  was  a 
something,  &c. 

"  I  admit  the  analogy  to  be  imperfect," 
replied  Peter. 

"  Your  dog  is  still  attached  to  you?  "  She 
pointed  with  quick  spontaneity  to  the 
agitated  dachshund  pursuing  imaginary 
game  in  the  shrubbery. 

"  In  the  absence  of  other  diversions,  yes. 
But  for  the  moment  he  preys  upon  his 
fellow-brute." 

"  An  illustration  of  the  universal  law  of 
Nature?  No,  please,"  she  added,  as  Peter 
was  in  act  to  take  up  his  cue ;  "  I  cannot  bear 
any  more  of  it.  Let  us  try  a  new  conversa- 
tion.    What  are  you  carrying  there  ?  " 

*'  I  am  restoring  to  the  Bishop  his  latch- 
key.   He  dropped  it,"  said  Peter,  sheepishly. 

"  Not  again!  "  she  said;  "  how  unoriginal 
of  him !  By-the-by,  is  your  new  novel  fin- 
ished?" 

"My  new  novel!"  he  cried,  aghast. 
"  Who  told  you  that  I  write  novels?  " 

"  But  you  must  have  known  that  I  knew. 


I04  Borrowed  Plumes 

No  author  ever  hid  his  profession  under  a 
bushel  for  a  week  together.  And,  being  an 
author  on  a  holiday,  you  would  never  think 
of  missing  such  a  chance  of  copy.  What  are 
you  going  to  call  this  account  of  your  latest 
experiences?  " 

"I  am  calling  it  The  Bishop's  LatcJikey,'' 
said  Peter,  without  conviction.  "  It  sounds 
so  alluring.  That's  why  I  keep  carrying  the 
thing  about.  I  have  to  drag  it  into  the 
picture  somehow." 

"  I  think,  out  of  courtesy,  you  might  gi\'e 
up  that  title,  and  call  the  book  after  me.  I 
must  be  more  important  than  the  latch-key. 
But  I'm  afraid  the  Indiscretion  of  the 
Duchess  has  been  used  already."  There  was 
a  something  in  her  manner — could  it  have 
been  the  very  least  little  depression  of  the 
azure-veined  left  lid? — that  suddenly  em- 
boldened Peter.  For  the  time  being  she  lent 
him  her  eyes,  to  see  things  by  as  she  saw 
them. 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied;  "  I  will  drop  my 
title  and  take  your  name  instead,  on  the 
understanding  that  you,  for  your  part " 

"  That  I,  for  my  part,  drop  my  title  and 


Mr.  Henry  Harland         105 

take  your  name  instead  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a 
very  pleasant  frankness. 

"  Precisely,"  he  said. 

''Oh,  very  well,"  said  she. 


IX. 

MR.  MAURICE  HEWLETT. 

Now  to  the  lieges  of  his  Suzerain  Lady 
came  challenge  of  tourney  from  Oom  of  the 
Doppers,  Lord  of  Outrevalles.  And  Rouge- 
garde  the  trobador  smote  on  his  tambour  and 
made  a  Chanson  des  Pauvres  Diables  Dis- 
traictz.  And  the  lists  were  straightly  set  in 
Val  de  Long-Tomps.  And  the  hollow  plain 
was  ribbed  with  naked  rocks,  grey  kopjes 
crowning  all.  And  from  the  borders  of  Our 
Lady  of  the  Snows,  and  from  Isles  of  the 
Southern  Cross,  flew  winged  proffers  of 
vassal  service,  and  the  cry  of  knighthood 
calling  to  saddle  and  spur.  And  it  was  really 
rather  curious.  For  My  Lord  Red-Tape,  out 
of  his  great  knowledge  of  warlike  matters, 
made  retort  courteous,  saying,  "  Oy  deus ! 
what  should  we  with  horse?  Send  us  foot !  " 

But  by  force  of  whelming  numbers  and  a 

stubborn  hardihood  begot  of  British  beef, 
1 06 


Mr.  Maurice  Hewlett         107 

they  overbore  no  few  of  the  chivalry  of 
Oom;  and  some  they  made  captive  before 
ever  they  could  mount  and  invite  the  hills  to 
cover  them.  Thereupon  a  remnant  of  Eng- 
land's knighthood,  composite  of  the  heavy 
sort  and  such  as  go  in  housings  of  blue  (for 
a  sprinkling  of  actual  horsemen  had  joined 
issue  with  the  foe  in  the  melee),  made  their 
ways  homeward.  And  Le  Sieur  Bobs  de 
Kandahar,  holding  that  the  tourney  was 
accomplished,  himself  took  ship  whence  he 
came.  At  this  the  heathen,  emerging  from 
their  parole  or  other  sanctuary,  rallied  for 
the  onset;  and  they  swept  the  lists  like  an 
Egypt's  plague  of  locusts.  And  about  the 
time  of  the  seventeenth  moon  (shaped  sickle- 
wise  for  sign  of  a  bloody  aftermath)  the  new 
Lord  Red-Tape  (for  the  former  had  been 
lifted  nigher  the  throne  as  one  that  had  the 
French  speech  most  nimble  on  his  tongue) 
woke  from  a  drugged  sleep  on  a  cry  of 
danger,  calling  "  To  horse !   A  crown  a  day, 

and  d n  the  expense!  "     So,  the  traverse 

being  a  windy  matter  at  this  season,  there 
was  mounting  in  red  haste  against  the 
second  anniversary  of  the  tourney. 


io8  Borrowed  Plumes 

But  about  this  time  Sir  Howard,  Lord 
Duke  of  the  North-folk,  that  hitherto  had 
been  disposed  to  cloistral  habitudes,  sat 
mightily  in  the  public  eye.  For  being  Chief 
Butler  of  England  (by  grace  of  birth)  and 
also  Comptroller  of  Letter-bags  (by  grace  of 
sheer  desert)  he  was  minded  to  yield  up  this 
last  dignity,  the  better  to  expedite  him  for 
battle  against  the  heathen ;  of  so  galliard  a 
stock  of  chivalers  was  his  tree  compact.  So 
in  harness  of  the  wan  leopard's  hue  he  sailed 
south  by  east.  And  under  a  blistering  noon, 
very  noxious  to  parched  maws,  he  pricking 
against  the  enemy  (that  had  no  heart  to  wait 
his  advent),  and  crying  "  Ha!  Maltravers ! 
Sauve  Arundel!  "  his  palfrey  avoided  from 
under  him.  But  being  recovered  of  this  hurt, 
he  made  dedication  of  his  knightly  spurs  to 
Saint  Michael  of  Table  Bay,  and  so  home 
without  more  ado. 

And  now  you  shall  hear  how  he  must 
needs  make  his  peace  with  Monsignor  the 
Pope,  that  had  looked  askance  on  this 
crusade  and  withheld  blessing  from  my  Lord 
Duke's  emprise.  So  in  palmer's  sable  he 
made  haste  to  Rome  with  a  great  following 


Mr.  Maurice  Hewlett        109 

of  pelegiins,  and  there  he  gat  himself  mis- 
liked  as  one  that  was  loud  to  have  His 
Holiness  restored  to  temporal  thrones;  and 
brought  the  Ouirinal  about  his  ears;  and  so 
home  again,  protesting  fair  intent. 

And  as  soon  as  he  had  done  off  his 
pilgrim's  weeds  he  must  go  accoutred 
cap-a-pie  in  his  panoply  of  Earl  Marshal 
(likewise  by  grace  of  birth)  for  proclaiming 
of  the  new  King.  And  not  a  blazoned 
herald  of  them  all  that  could  move  without 
his  nod.  And  it  was  matter  for  mere  marvel 
how  one  mortal  could  be  so  innumerably 
gifted.  But  thereafter  he  gat  him  much  new 
lore  of  antic  precedence  against  the  King's 
crowning. 

*  *  *  * 

Now  so  it  was  that  the  chivalry  of  Eng- 
land, they  alone,  took  shame  of  being  seen 
abroad  in  fighting-gear,  whether  as  being-  too 
proud  to  air  the  ensigns  of  their  pride,  or  for 
modesty,  lest  in  so  salient  a  flame  the  hearts 
of  ladies  errant  might  be  as  night-moths 
scorched  against  their  will — I  may  conjec- 
ture, not  determine.  But  Le  Sieur  Bobs  de 
Kandahar  sent  word  that  he  would  have  his 


iio  Borrowed  Plumes 

knighthood  eschew  mufti  (an  unchristian 
word,  filched,  as  you  should  know,  from 
unblooded  law-givers  of  Byzant)  and  come 
before  him  in  armour  point-devise.  And 
this  w^as  but  as  a  tucket  to  prelude  the  shock 
of  battle.  For  my  Lord  Bobs  had  laid  his 
baton  in  rest  against  the  Empery  of  Red 
Tape.  And  it  was  no  madrigal  business ;  but 
a  task  such  as  had  Duke  Hercles  of  pleasant 
renow'n  when  he  laid  his  besom  about  the 
middens  of  the  old  Man  of  the  Stables 
(  Vetus  de  Stabulis) . 

=H  >l<  ^  H< 

But  scarce  it  wanted  a  se'nnight  to  the 
eve  of  Monsire  Valentine  when  the  arriere- 
ban  outfiew  for  summons  to  a  serry  of 
knights  at  the  High  Court  of  Parliament. 
And  of  those  that  sent  it  forth  Sir  Belchamp 
Portedrapeau  was  one;  he  that  was  named 
Fore-and-Aft  by  his  own;  for  that  he  sat 
with  portions  of  him  overlapping  the  fence, 
this  way  and  that  way. 

"  Saint  Lloyd-George  for  Little  Eng- 
land! "  came  answer  from  the  Welsh 
Marshes. 

And  "  Dame!  "  cried  Jehan  of  Montrose, 


Mr.  Maurice  Hewlett        1 1 1 

that,  save  under  great  provoking,  used  but 
sparsely  the  language  of  piety ;  "  and  must 
I  quit  my  inkhorn  for  yon  chattering  parrot- 
house?  " 

"  Stone  of  Rufus !  "  cried  Sir  Vernon  de 
Chastel-la-Forest,  surnamed  Le  Pompous 
for  a  touch  of  the  mammoth  in  his  motion ;  a 
born  trampler  of  men ;  "  Stone  of  Rufus !  " 
says  he,  "  but  I  scent  budget-work  afoot !  " 
And  so  snorted  joyfully. 

"  Great  Glamis !  "  said  the  Thane  of  Fife 
(E.  Division),  "  I  am  the  Empire's,  let  her 
make  what  wars  she  will.  That  first;  then 
give  me  Holy  Church  to  harry !  " 

"King's  man!"  cried  Sir  Cop-la-Poule ; 
"  and  sib  with  you  there,  both  ways!  " 

But  "  By  the  Mace!  "  said  La  Bouchere  of 
the  Cordonniers,  "  there  should  be  noses 
broke  among  the  faithful.  'Tis  like  to  be  a 
most  amazing  pretty  medley." 


Now,  as  the  city  waxed  monstrous  fruit- 
ful, but  the  highways  abode  as  they  were, 
save  for  yawning  breaches  in  the  floor 
thereof  very  unseasonable,  you  will  collect 


1 1  2  Borrowed  Plumes 

that  the  press  of  passengers,  horse  and  foot, 
grew  Hke  to  a  hustle  of  pilchards  pell-mell  in 
a  Brittany  drag-net.  And  the  town-watch 
gave  admonishment,  crying  "  Passavant ! 
passavant !  "  or  "  Halte-la !  "  as  the  case 
demanded.  And  the  driver  of  the  all-folks- 
wain  would  turn  to  his  rearguard  and  "Lord 
Mayor  ha'  mercy,"  he  would  say,  "'tis  a 
mazy  faring!"  And,  "Ay,  mate,  a  bit 
thick!"  his  fellow;  and  so  would  troll  a 
snatch  of  Adhcesi  pavimento. 

But  for  relief  of  the  pent  roads  there  was 
devised  a  hollow  mine-way,  such  as  coneys 
affect ;  and  engines,  fitted  thereto,  to  draw 
men  through  the  midriff  of  earth,  betwixt 
its  crust  and  fiery  omphalode.  And  it  was 
named  Le  Tube  a  Deux  Deniers;  for,  fared 
they  never  so  far,  serf  or  margrave,  differ- 
ence of  price  or  person  was  there  none.  But 
against  the  Company  of  Adventurers  that 
wrought  the  same  was  plaint  made  of  flack- 
ing walls,  and  a  volleying  of  roof-beams,  and 
basements  rent  as  with  a  mangonel.  And 
"  Tush !  "  says  the  Company.  But,  "  Oy, 
sires!  "  cried  the  dwellers  overhead,  "  let  the 
chose  be  '  jiigee ! '  "     And  so  haled  them 


Mr.  Maurice  Hewlett        1 1  3 

before   the   Shire-reeve's   Court,   for   mulct 
and  amercement. 

*  *  *  * 

Now  at  the  very  sable  of  fog-tide  you 
must  understand  that  they  play  Moralities  on 
the  dun  banks  of  Thames.  And  of  such  are 
the  moving  histories  of  Sir  Richard  de  Whit- 
tingtoune,  La  Belle  Dormeuse,  Damosel 
Rouge-Cape,  The  Forest  Infants,  Mistress 
Cendrillon  (called  Cinderella  of  the  Fur 
Slipper,  though  certain  lack-lores  would 
have  her  shod  not  in  vair,  which  is  to  say 
fur,  but  verre,  namely  glass),  Jacques  Mort- 
au-Geant  and  Aladdin  of  the  Lamp  Merveil- 
lous  (out  of  Araby).  Follows  a  sample  or 
so  in  this  kind  : — 

(i)  Whether  it  was  the  red  wine,  or  the 
splitting  of  crackers,  or  else  her  cinder-hot 
beauty,  I  know  not,  that  set  the  Prince's 
heart  on  sudden  fire.  Certes,  he  caught  her 
to  his  knee  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  gaping 
meinie. 

"  Vair-slipper,"  he  cried,  "  your  little  foot 
is  on  my  neck;  your  slave  am  I  already. 
Make  me  your  Prince!  " 

"  Lord,  say  not  that,"  said  Mistress  Cen- 


114  Borrowed   Plumes 

drillon.  Ashen  were  her  cheeks  against  the 
blue  flame  of  her  hair.  Twice  round  her 
brows  it  went,  and  the  pigtail's  ending  slept 
between  her  breasts.  "  Lord,"  says  she,  "  it 
can  never  be.  The  humming-bird  may  not 
mate  with  the  titmouse." 

"  By  my  halidom,"  he  cried,  "  but  it  shall 
be  so,  ma  mye." 

"  Lord !  "  she  murmured,  "  the  hour  is 
close  on  middle  night ;  let  me  away !  " 

She  slipped  like  green  water  from  his 
rocky  arms.  "  Nay,  popinjay,"  he  cried,  "  it 
is  the  hour  of  Philomel.  Stay  with  me  till 
she  withdraw  before  the  early  throstle." 

For  all  answer,  light  as  a  beam  of  Dian 
she  slid  down  the  bannisters  and  so  past  the 
drowsy  cloak-room  sentinels.  Midnight 
carillon,  pealing  from  a  hundred  belfries, 
snapped  the  wand  of  faerie.  Into  the  sheer 
starlight  flitted  the  shadow  of  a  homing 
wench,  clad  in  most  pitiful  poor  gear.  My 
Lord  Prince,  hot  in  pursuit,  stood  rooted  to 
earth,  chanting  a  forlorn  stave  of  Le  Trcsor 
des  Humbles.  Against  the  nap  of  his  sap- 
phire vest  he  held  a  Slipper  of  Vair  chance- 
dropped  in  the  princely  purlieus. 


Mr.  Maurice  Hewlett        115 

(ii)  Young  Spring  was  waking  in  the 
high  woods.  Now  was  the  pairing-time  of 
amorous  fowls  in  burgeoned  brakes.  Earth 
turned  in  her  sleep  with  a  throb  of  surging 
sap.  Lush  hyacinths  spread  a  gossamer 
web  to  veil  her  bridals.  Hand  in  hand,  as 
became  orphans  of  one  ravaged  house,  the 
Forest  Infants  paced  under  boon  boughs. 

"  Parbleu,"  said  Fulk,  that  was  right  heir 
of  this  goodly  demesne,  "  but  I  have  an 
aching  maw !  " 

"  And  I,"  said  his  sister  Alys,  "  I  also 
could  do  with  a  devilled  ortolan." 

"  'Tis  a  dog  of  an  uncle !  "  said  Fulk,  with 
a  round  oath  that  your  Gascon  trooper  might 
repeat,  not  I. 

"  And  the  aunt  a  vile  ferret,"  replied  Alys, 
and  wept  for  mere  emptiness. 

'"''  Mort  de  ma  mere,"  cried  Fulk,  "'tis  ill 
work  ambling  thus.  Let  us  lie  close  in  the 
quick  undergrowth,  and  woo  dreams  of 
potted  lobster,  first  having  shriven  our  dusty 
souls." 

And  so  they  found  them  after  a  many 
days,  stark,  each  in  the  other's  gripe.     And 


1 1 6  Borrowed  Plumes 

their  pall  was  wrought  of  the  dead  leaves  of 
yesteryear.  The  robins  had  done  it.  The 
red  of  their  breasts  was,  I  take  it,  the  pas- 
sionate heart's  blood  that  showed  through. 


X. 

MR.  GEORGE  MEREDITH. 

In  the  vestibule  of  Adolescence,  the  Boy 
tands  at  plastic  pause,  clay-soft  to  the  im- 
»osed  Idea.  This  is  the  Propagandist's 
LOur ;  then,  or  never,  the  Vegetarian  has  his 
hance. 

*  *  *  * 

A  woman  more  nosingly  fastidious  of 
ssentials,  you  might  waste  a  season  of 
^^hurch  Parades  and  never  come  up  with, 
i^et  she  married  her  husband  for  his  gift  of 
ligesting  Welsh  Rabbit. 

5j^  ^  ^  >|C 

Her  versatile  nature  swung  in  a  dazzling 
irbit  of  aptitudes.  Intrepid  horsewoman, 
^ath  an  edged  wit  for  dialectics,  she  could 
Iso  sit  the  downy  of  postprandial  arm- 
hairs  with  a  firmness  to  wonder  at,  smiling 
,  focussed  attention  on  bovine  inanity. 

*  *  *  * 

117 


1 1  8  Borrowed  Plumes 

Present,  you  could  swear  to  her  for  a 
glowingly  constant ;  absent,  she  wrote  "  Will 
wire,"  and  telegraphed  "  Will  w^rite  " — to 
the  chilling  of  assurance. 

*  ;i:  Hs  * 

A  next-weeker  for  procrastination,  there 
was  ^acus  in  his  eye  for  the  delays  of 
others.  Chatham-and-Dover  w^ith  himself, 
he  was  Time-and-Tide  for  the  rest. 

Poetry  and  the  affiliated  indiscretions  had 
always  been  \dewed  by  the  Family  with  pro- 
found distrust.  To  the  Head,  not  incurious 
of  the  Burgeoning  Period,  this  graft  of 
Romance  on  a  stem  already  shooting 
Rhythmics  had  hinted  at  a  deranged  hered- 
ity. A  botany  specialist,  hastil}''  summoned 
from  Leipzig,  checked  the  development  at 
nick  of  the  vernal. 

JjC  ^  5(C  3|C 

Bachelor  by  habit  and  a  graceful  seat  by 
force  of  application,  he  had  the  manner  of 
riding  straight  after  hounds  or  women;  but 
tempered  by  an  instinct  for  country  and  a 
taste  for  the  durable.  He  would  choose  the 
open  gate  at  the  fallow's  corner,  in  contempt 


Mr.  George  Meredith        1 1 9 

of  incredulous  eye-lifts  thrown  over  shrug 
of  shoulders  leaning  back  for  the  rise,  rather 
than  risk  his  stable's  best  blood  over  a  low 
hedge,  flushing  young  Spring,  with  heavy 
drop  at  fourteen  stone  on  macadam  flints, 
shrieking  menace  of  a  wrung  fetlock  for  the 
ten  miles  home.  In  the  other  kind  of  chase 
he  had  cried  off  on  suspicion  that  the  lady's 
mother  had  died  fat. 

*  *  *  * 

"  No  Veuve  like  the  Old  Veuve,"  he  cried 
across  the  opal  iridescence,  bubbles  wink- 
ingly  discursive  at  brim ;  and  was  resiliently 
instant  to  retrieve  the  solecism,  like  the  con- 
noisseur he  was  of  Bacchus  and  the  femi- 
nine. Was  not  this  indeed  the  fair  widow's 
first  excursus  into  Epicuria  since  her 
husband's  lapse  to  the  underworld? 

"  Onions  is  off,"  the  waiter  interposed, 
with  sharp  recall  by  Phaethon-descent  from 
ether  to  earth.  She  blushed  a  tempered  rubi- 
cund. Should  he  retrospect  for  its  meaning 
to  the  Veuve-solecism  ?  Or  did  "  onions  " 
stand  with  her  for  an  artificial  excitative  of 
the  lachrymal,  proper  in  tolerated  widow- 
hood tending  to  consolable  ?  Opposing  argu- 


I  20  Borrowed  Plumes 

merits  paced  out  their  duello  distance  divisive 
of  his  dear  mind;  "New  widows  are  the 
best  "  confronted  by  "  The  time  of  tears  and 
convention  is  over."  After  all,  was  there  so 
great  difference?  Let  them  embrace  broth- 
erly over  boxed  pistols  to  satisfaction  of 
honour. 


[Of  Lord  Mayor's  Day.] — Should  not 
some  poet  capturingly  perpetuate  for  us  this 
scene,  repullulant — a  hardy  annual — from 
the  impenetrable  of  sublimity?  Londinen- 
sian,  surely,  this  progress  of  Montanus  and 
his  choir,  tardy  with  turtle-lined  abdomen; 
these  civic  fathers  alighting  at  the  Courts  of 
Law,  tribute  of  Commerce  to  claims  of 
Justice;  symbolic  nymphs  painted  to  braver 
than  life,  conscious  of  limbs  posed  at  relaxed 
tension  on  chariots  arrested  in  preposterous 
mid-career ;  gaudy  within  limits  of  the  inex- 
pensive; Gog-Magog,  with  historic  retinue 
varicoloured  to  admiration,  conducting 
tavern  interludes  at  a  remove;  the  whole 
better  conceivable  in  France. 


Mr.  George  Meredith        i  2 1 

[Lines  on  the  publication  of  Bismarck's 
Love  Letters;  after  The  Nuptials  of  Attila.] 

This  is  he  of  the  iron  throat, 
Bold  at  beer  of  Lager  blend, 
Stout  to  swallow,  and  never  wince, 
Twenty  quarts  or  so  on  end  ; 

My  Bismarck,  O  my  Bismarck. 
He  whose  voice,  a  thunder  peal. 
Rang  across  the  squadrons'  thud, 
Chirrup  of  stirrup,  clank  of  steel. 
Sabre  on  sabre,  shock  of  lance, 
Uhlan's  lance  on  cuirass-plate  ; 
Voice  of  the  trumpet-blast  of  Fate 
Smiting  the  flanks  of  Seine  in  flood. 
Flood  of  the  blood  of  the  flower  of  France. 

My  Bismarck,  O  my  Bismarck. 

Strange  to  think  he  lived  at  home 
In  a  human  sort  of  way  ; 
Never,  with  his  lips  afoam, 
Felled  the  harmless  patient  cat ; 
Never  actually  sat 
In  a  fit  of  brutal  play 
On  his  heir-apparent's  head  ; 
Never  even  pulled  his  ear  ; 

My  Bismarck,  O  my  Bismarck. 
Never  brained  the  servant  who 
Made  for  him  his  daily  bed  ; 


122  Borrowed  Plumes 

Dealt  in  no  domestic  crime 
Such  as  bigamy  ;  merely  wed 
One  wife  only  at  a  time ! 
Can  it  be  we  judged  amiss 
Of  the  Great  in  Peace  and  War 
As  regards  his  private  sphere  ? 
Erred,  in  fact,  in  looking  for 
Stronger  hero's  stuff  than  this, 

My  Bismarck,  O  my  Bismarck  ? 

T*  3)C  3jC  3jC 

It  is  the  same  France,  implacably  woman 
to  the  eyes  of  her,  dowered  for  farce-play 
with  the  eternal  mutable.  Yesterday  con- 
sptiitive  to  the  nauseous  at  mention  of  Drey- 
fus redivive ;  swooping  in  guise  of  massed 
Amazons  of  the  line,  javelins  low  at  thigh- 
rest,  on  solitary  appealing  for  only  Truth 
and  Justice  with  what  of  voice  remained 
from  Devil-Isle  torture.  To-day  uproarious 
in  fantastic  serenade  of  Liberty  under  bal- 
cony of  discredited  tyrant  heavy  with  spoil 
of  the  unenfranchised,  mildly  ruminant  on 
Ignorance  butchered,  he  away,  to  make  his 
Dutchman's  holiday. 

*  ^  ^  ^ 

See  him  there,  this  Rosebery,  supine  in 


Mr.  George  Meredith       123 

phantasy  of  exile  on  bed  of  Neapolitan 
violets,  preferred  for  emollience;  Baiae- 
windows  open  on  the  infinite  of  blue  dim- 
ming to  lift  of  Sorrento,  Ischia  hull-down  in 
the  Occidental;  emergent  at  call  of  interest- 
ing occasion,  rectorial  or  the  like;  triple 
bronze  to  resist  allurement  of  Liberal 
matrons  vocal  for  return  of  injured  hero;  a 
Coriolanus  de  luxe.  See  him,  Lord  Orinont 
of  the  civil,  consoling  the  Misunderstood  he 
counts  himself  to  be  with  disquisitions  on  the 
Giant  in  Action,  a  "  last  phase  " ;  reflective, 
not  without  pathos,  of  a  personal  penulti- 
mate, prematurely  imminent,  with  Theban 
Sphinx  for  riddling  exemplar, 

^  H^  5|;  ^ 

[On  Mr.  Punch's  cartoon  of  Cronje  and  the 
Shade  of  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena.] 
Admire  how  the  Tyrannical  in  current 
adumbration  of  Sambourne-pen  stands  at 
insular  remove  posed  authentic ;  takes  sullen 
salute  of  co-exile  cognisant  in  vagueness  of 
the  over-again  of  Imperial  Fact,  A  picture 
of  contrastables  confluent  to  similar;  here 
your  Dutch,  exsurgent  from  Cincinnatus- 
plough,   inexpert  of  externals  transmarine 


1  24  Borrowed  Plumes 

and  other,  territorial  within  Hmits  of  the 
fencible;  tliere,  your  Corsican,  cosmic  to  the 
utter  of  belHcose.  insatiate  of  a  shackled 
hemisphere  one  link  short ;  labefact  each 
before  a  like  Necessitated,  merging  extremes. 

^  jS;  ^  ;(c 

[Lines  on  Mr.  Chamberlain's  return  from 
an  excursion  to  the  Mediterranean.] 

Bronze-ardent  with  meridian  suns, 

Scent  of  Italia's  flowers  about  his  boots, 

Behold  the  Ineluctable  leap  to  land  ! 

Still  salt  by  briny  converse  with  the  fleet, 

A  tar  in  being.     Dover's  silent  guns 

A  little  irk  him,  hardened  to  salutes. 

Behold  him  stand, 

Brummagem-factured,  monocled,  aloof. 

Unspoiled  of  admiration,  envy-proof, 

Intolerably  self-complete : 

Janus  of  War  to  ope  or  shut  at  will ; 

An  orb  of  circuinvolvent  satellites. 

Portentous  past  belief  ;  of  good  and  ill 

Bodeful  to  measureless  of  mortal  ken  ; 

Now  off  the  swung  machine  a  bounding  god. 

And  now  the  ditchward  guide  of  blinded  men. 

So  sees  him  Europe  planted,  she,  at  gaze  ; 

Sees  him  that  Britain  Greater  by  his  nod, 


Mr.  George  Meredith        125 

Addressed  to  undreamed  acrobatic  flights, 

Bent  to  negotiate 

The  sundering  bar  of  centuries  both  in  blaze  ; 

A  salamander  in  asbestos-tights 

Armoured  against  the  igneous  of  Fate. 

IjC  3fC  >lC  ^. 

A  strange  irruption  of  brute  atavism,  this 
gallery  clamour  of  the  Hooligan  loud  to 
extinguish  the  favourable  of  stalled  Intelli- 
gence; percipient  Judgment  merged  in  the 
boo  of  Premeditation.  Not  without  reason 
was  it  recorded  in  the  Pilgrim's  Scrip :  "  The 
last  thing  to  be  civilised  by  man  is  the  gods." 


XI. 
SIR  JOHN  LUBBOCK 

(Lord  Avebury). 

Originality  is  the  mark  of  genius ;  but  a 
love  of  common-place,  or  "  a  firm  grasp  of 
the  obvious,"  may  be  acquired  by  the  hum- 
blest among  us. 

*  *  >!t  >K 

Poverty  is  not  necessarily  shameful.  It 
was  once  remarked  of  a  great  man  that  "  he 
came  of  poor  but  honest  parents."  As  Burns 
so  beautifully  said :  "  For  a'  that  and  a' 
that ! " 

if:  ^  ^  ^ 

Childhood,  both  in  man  and  beast,  is  the 
period  of  innocence.  Of  Mary's  "  little 
lamb "  it  was  said  that  "  its  fleece  was 
white  as  snow." 

How  interesting  is  the  present  century! 
126 


Sir  John  Lubbock  127 

A    hundred    years    ago    there    were    fewer 
books.    The  population  has  also  increased. 

jjc  ^  ^  ^ 

It  is  best  not  to  follow  two  points  of  the 
compass  at  the  same  time.  The  pilot  that 
steers  both  for  Scylla  and  Charybdis  is  in 
danger  of  missing  them  both  (Homer). 

>|<  ^  :1c  ^ 

A  man's  work  will  often  outlive  him. 
Thus,  Shakspeare  and  Watt  are  dead;  but 
Hamlet  and  the  steam-engine  survive. 

*  H«  *  * 

It  is  generally  recognised  that  in  great 
danger  you  may  show  presence  of  mind,  even 
though  you  are  absent  in  body.  Some  of 
our  best  military  criticisms  are  produced  in 
Fleet  Street. 

3jC  ^  5j<  ^ 

Botany  brings  us  into  relationship  with 
flowers.  Many  people  consider  that  the 
study  of  Nature  is  best  pursued  in  the  open 
air.  This  view  applies  also  to  hunting, 
shooting  and  fishing. 

*  *  *  * 

And  then  the  weather !  How  much  of 
true  happiness  depends  upon  conversation, 


128  Borrowed  Plumes 

and  how  much  of  this  on  the  weather !  Yet 
"  there  is  no  such  thing  as  bad  weather,  only 
different  kinds  of  good  weather  "  (Ruskin). 
This  true  thought  has  often  helped  me  in  a 
London  fog. 

*  i|c  ^  >|s 

Water  is  recognised  as  a  necessity  to 
ships.  What  should  we  do  if  anything  went 
wrong  with  the  ocean?  Suppose  "  the  deep 
did  rot!"  (Coleridge). 

^  >1<  ;!;  ^ 

In  Art  it  is  not  enough  to  copy  Nature: 
the  Ideal  should  come  from  within.  That 
is  why  models  are  so  unimportant.  There 
was  once  a  great  painter  who  always  had 
the  hangman  to  sit  for  his  pictures  of  Venus. 

*  >|s  *  * 

The  power  of  Music  is  proverbial.  It 
"soothes  the  savage  breast"  (Congreve), 
including  snakes.  It  was  Cleopatra  who 
said,  "Give  me  some  music;"  on  which 
her  attendant  remarked  as  follows :  "  The 
music,  ho!  "  Both  these  last  passages  may 
be  found  in  Shakspeare. 


Sir  John  Lubbock  129 

"  Home,  sweet  home !  "  I  forget  who  said 
this. 

T*  ^  5jC  5}C 

It  would  be  difficult  to  name  a  single  truly 
great  poet  who  has  not,  at  one  time  or 
another,  referred  to  Love.  It  is  Love  that 
gives  pinions  even  to  the  caterpillar.  But 
we  must  beware  of  Sirens  (Homer.) 

*  *  *  * 

In  reading  we  ought  to  employ  selection. 
It  is  almost  impossible  to  read  every  book 
that  has  been  written.  Scott's  Novels  is  one 
of  the  Hundred  Best  Books. 

*  *  *  * 

Birds  are  meant  to  be  our  companions. 
There  is  something  very  human  in  the  par- 
rot's voice.  And  how  superb  is  the  plumage 
of  the  peacock ! 

^  ^  :Jc  H^ 

A  Frenchman  has  said  that  "  to  know 
all  is  to  pardon  all"  (this  is  the  English 
version).  It  shows  that  we  ought  not  to 
judge  hastily.  The  story  is  told  of  a  short- 
sighted person  that  he  once  saw  in  the  dis- 
tance what  he  took  to  be  a  man,  but  when  he 
9 


I  3©  Borrowed  Plumes 

came  closer  it  turned  out  to  be  his  own 
brother. 

*  *               *  * 
Virtue   is  the   happy   mean  (Aristotle). 

Thus,  there  is  the  highest  authority  for  mar- 
riage. But  with  Solomon,  and,  in  a  less 
degree,  with  Henry  the  Eighth,  it  degene- 
rated into  a  habit. 

■'fi  ^  ^  ^ 

Friends  are  a  great  blessing.  Cicero  wrote 
an  entire  essay  "  concerning  friendship." 

>[t  ^  ^  ^ 

Who  can  foretell  the  Future  with  any 
degree  of  accuracy  ?  "  To  be  or  not  to  be," 
as  Shakspeare  said. 

>jc  ;jc  ^  ;(c 

"  By  that  sin  fell  the  angels,"  was  said  of 
Ambition.  Yet  a  moderate  ambition  is  com- 
mendable. Every  private  soldier  was  at  one 
time  understood  to  "  carry  a  Field-Marshal's 
baton  in  his  knapsack,"  but  this  is  now  for- 
bidden in  the  regulations  for  field-service. 

*  *  *  * 
Euripides   said   something   cynical   about 

riches.  Yet  many  things  can  be  bought  with 
money.    This  is  one  reason  why  the  posses- 


Sir  John  Lubbock  131 

sion  of  wealth  adds  to  the  comfort  of  Hfe. 
"If  thou  art  rich,  thou'rt  poor"  (Shaks- 
peare)  is  on  the  face  of  it  an  untruth. 

*  *  ;|c  Hs 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  "  uses  of 
adversity."     Let  us  hope  it  is  true. 

'K  ^  ^  ^ 

There  is  a  saying  (based  upon  the  Coper- 
nican  theory)  that  Love  "  makes  the  world 
go  round."  It  was  for  Love  that  Leander 
swam  across  the  Hellespont,  which  is  wider 
than  the  Serpentine. 

*  *  *  * 
Many  people  cannot  say  "  No !  "     Others 

early  learn  to  say  it  when  asked  to  do  dis- 
agreeable things.  "  Mens  sana  in  corpore 
sano."  If  the  last  word  is  pronounced  say 
no,  this,  taken  with  my  context,  is  tanta- 
mount to  a  joke, 

*  *  *  * 
Nature  is  governed  by  unvarying  laws. 

Every  day  the  sun  rises;  every  evening  it 
sets.  The  only  local  exception  to  this  last 
rule  is  the  British  Empire. 


XII. 

MRS.  HU^IPHRY  WARD. 

Out  there  on  the  terrace  of  the  Villa 
Prighi  the  last  of  the  sunset  had  ceased  to 
illumine  the  intellectual  brow  of  Hellsmere 
Bannisty.  "  Modelled  by  Praxiteles,  tinted 
by  Botticelli  " ;  so  his  head  had  been  de- 
scribed by  an  artist.  Throug^h  the  well- 
preserved  growth  that  clustered  round  this 
noble  organ  he  ran  his  long  nervous  fingers 
as  he  pored,  with  critical  rapture,  over  the 
final  proofs  of  his  great  opus: — Italian  Lib- 
erty: its  Cause  and  Cure. 

Immersed  in  the  splendour  of  one  of 
those  scenic  descriptions  which  reflect  a  con- 
scientious observation  in  situ — had  he  not 
rented  the  Villa  Prighi  largely  for  the  very 
uses  of  local  colour? — he  could  still  appre- 
ciate the  humorous  exhalations  that  stole  up 
from  the  old-world  soil  of  the  Campagna 
132 


Mrs.  Humphry  Ward        133 

through  the  sentinel  hnes  of  prophylactic 
eucalyptus.  Yet  in  a  general  way  it  was 
not  consonant  with  his  detached  personality 
to  be  affected  by  anything  of  a  strictly 
humorous  character. 

Nor  would  a  nature  less  absorbed  in  its 
own  identity  have  put  so  severe  a  strain  on 
the  devotion  of  its  audience.  But  to  a  type 
like  Hellsmere's  it  did  not  occur  that  Euphe- 
mia  was  laying  more  surely  every  minute 
the  foundation  of  an  incurable  catarrh.  It 
only  seemed  natural  that  she  should  want 
to  sit  shivering  in  this  deadly  air  for  mere 
joy  of  hearing  the  following  passage  for  the 
twenty-third  time : — 

"  Above  me,  as  I  write,  stretches  the  mid- 
summer cobalt  of  an  Italian  sky  in  the  full 
sense  of  that  expression.  Below,  beneath, 
before,  behind,  to  right,  to  left,  lies  the  vast 
sweep  of  the  Campagna.  To  have  seen 
Rome  apart  from  the  Campagna — rich 
though  the  Eternal  City  undoubtedly  is  in 
classical  and  ecclesiastical  traditions,  contin- 
uously maintained  from  the  era  of  Romulus 
and  Rhea  Silvia  down  to  that  of  Marie 
Corelli  and  Hall  Caine,  not  excluding  the 


I  34  Borrowed  Plumes 

Pontiffs — is  to  have  missed  the  intrinsic 
force  of  Italy's  association  with  her  own  soil. 

"  Here  from  the  terrace  of  the  Villa 
Prighi  I  look  out  over  avenues  of  ilex  and 
stone-pine,  over  a  wide  largesse  of  rose  and 
lilac  and  cyclamen,  and  other  growths 
whether  perennial  or  appropriate  to  the  sea- 
son, to  where,  like  a  phantom  balloon,  rises 
the  airy  dome  of  Peter,  and,  beyond^  on  the 
faint  horizon,  Soracte  stands  up  and  drinks 
the  noontide.  And  everywhere,  and  always, 
always,  always,  the  Campagna.  Hour  by 
hour,  day  by  day,  week  by  week,  under  vary- 
ing conditions  of  light  and  weather,  I  have 
remarked  the  view  from  my  terrace  at  Villa 
Prighi;  and  I  can  recall  no  occasion,  how- 
ever apparently  trivial,  when  the  Campagna 
in  some  form  or  other  has  not  met  my 
astonished  eyes. 

"  But  when  the  dying  splendour  falls  on 
vineyard  and  ploughland,  on  broom  and 
cytisus  and  aromatic  bean;  when  waves  of 
pellucid  amethyst  and  purple  come  tumbling- 
out  of  the  wild  west,  and  throw  a  reflected 
glory  on  the  dazzling  gleam  of  stucco  an- 
tiques and  sombre  lichen-crusted  travertine ; 


Mrs.  Humphry  Ward       135 

and  the  love-lorn  nightingale  prepares  to 
grow  eloquent  in  cypress-bowers;  then  the 
Campagna  is  her  truest  self;  then  from  her 
ghostly  soil,  a  teeming  hot-bed  of  forgotten 
effigies,  uprise  those  effluvia  of  the  shadowy 
past  which  intoxicate  the  lizard  and  other 
native  fauna,  and  to  an  impressionist,  like 
myself,  are  a  most  lively  source  of  literary 
inspiration." 

*  *  *  * 

From  the  Campagna  to  the  moors  of  Bal- 
liemet ;  what  a  change  of  milieu!  And  it  was 
characteristic  of  Hellsmere  that  his  spiritual 
condition  always  took  on  something  of  the 
colour  of  his  physical  environment.  He  was 
cognisant  of  a  recrudescence  of  feeling  in 
favour  of  the  strait  tenets  of  his  childhood's 
orthodoxy.  The  very  air,  wafting  warm 
scents  of  moorland,  seemed  heavy  with 
Presbyterian  conviction. 

Almost  involuntarily  he  found  himself 
reviewing  the  processes,  now  logical,  now 
arbitrary,  by  which  he  had  arrived  at  his 
present  tolerance  of  the  principles  of  Chris- 
tian Science,  qualified  by  an  obscurantist 
Panatheism.    His  early  unreasoning  accept- 


136  Borrowed  Plumes 

ance  of  U.  P.  dogma;  his  tentative  excur- 
sions in  Kant,  followed  by  a  sudden  and 
glorious  emancipation  from  the  school  of 
Peebles;  his  reaction  from  the  strain  of  the 
larger  Secularism  under  the  Pagan  teaching 
of  Barbizon  and  La  Bohemc;  then,  at  first 
sight  of  the  Eternal  City,  his  volte-face  from 
the  doctrines  of  the  Latin  Quarter  to  those 
of  the  Latin  Fathers ;  the  yearning,  out  of  a 
confused  memory  of  Crockett,  John  Stuart 
Mill,  and  the  Contcs  Drolatiques,  to  find  in 
traditional  Authority  a  sure  euthanasia  of 
speculative  thought;  and,  finally,  the  attrac- 
tion towards  the  new  Occidental  creed  of 
Faith-healing,  culminating  in  an  attitude  of 
reservation  and  eclectic  detachment. 

Yet  the  chains  of  heredity  were  not  to  be 
so  lightly  thrown  ofif.  He  had  been  reminded 
of  their  force  as  he  swallowed  his  bowl  of 
porridge  at  breakfast.  And  now,  what  the 
Scots  oatmeal  had  begun,  the  heather  and 
the  gillies  and  the  whining  of  the  Gordon 
setters  seemed  likely  to  confirm.  For  a 
w^hile  he  almost  trembled  to  think  that  he 
was  on  the  eve  of  an  atavism. 

The  path   up   to   the  moor   lay   through 


Mrs.  Humphry  Ward        137 

hanging  woods  lush  with  dew,  aHve  with  the 
stir  of  nature.  Hellsmere's  eyes,  hfted  from 
the  page  of  Hume's  Essays,  fell  on  a  great 
fir-trunk  with  its  russet-red  that  seemed, 
under  a  cloudy  sky,  to  retain  the  fire  of 
departed  suns.  How  was  that  for  an  image 
of  the  survival  of  religious  emotions  still 
aglow  with  the  colour  of  discarded  creeds? 
The  train  of  thought  to  which  this  figure 
gave  an  impulse  was  disturbed  by  a  flash  of 
gold  plumage,  A  cock-pheasant  went  whir- 
ring through  the  brake.  A  squirrel,  beady- 
eyed  and  tawny-brushed,  peered  from  a  pine 
and  pursued  his  spiral  ascent.  Here  and 
there  went  the  bobbing  of  rabbits'  tails 
speeding  to  shelter.  Over  the  broad  leaves 
of  water-lilies  lying  flat  on  the  surface  of  a 
dusky  pool,  a  moor-hen  hurried,  dryfoot,  like 
Israel's  host,  to  the  further  bank.  Hellsmere 
became  subconsciously  aware  that  all  these 
furred  and  feathered  creatures  were  actuated 
by  a  common  passion  for  self-preservation, 
expressing  itself  in  various  manifestations 
according  to  their  respective  shapes  and 
habits.  What  more  natural!  What  else, 
indeed,  was  the  human  cry  for  immortality 


138  Borrowed  Plumes 

but  this  same  instinct  in  a  form  perhaps 
more  spiritual,  certainly  more  sanguine? 
Could  it  be  possible,  he  asked  himself,  that 
the  analogy  went  further  ?  That  the  Powers 
above,  in  the  careless  calm  attributed  to 
them  by  the  Lucretian  philosophy,  had  no 
deeper  designs  on  our  existence  than  he, 
Hellsmere,  had  at  that  moment  on  these 
denizens  of  the  woods? 

And  yet  with  them  it  was  not  mere 
untutored  instinct  that  warned  them  to  seek 
safety.  There  had  been  rude  and  bitter 
experience.  Pheasants  had  been  killed; 
though  not,  he  hoped,  in  August.  As  for 
rabbits,  they  were  a  perpetual  prey.  What, 
indeed,  was  his  objective  at  that  moment? 
Was  it  not  the  destruction  of  certain  forms 
of  life?  primarily  the  grouse,  incidentally 
the  hare,  and,  conceivably,  the  snipe?  A 
divine  shame  smote  his  heart  as  he  felt  in  the 
game-pocket  of  his  coat  and  brought  out  a 
copy  of  the  Canticle  of  the  Creatures. 

And  now  the  moor  stretched  before  him, 
sweeping  up  the  long  low  braes  of  Atho!, 
chequered  with  purple  patches,  here  flaunt- 
ing the  conscious  symmetry  of  a  draught- 


Mrs.  Humphry  Ward        139 

board,  there  counterfeiting  the  dappled 
shadows  of  the  milch-kine  of  Apollo.  The 
guns  spread  out  into  line.  The  dogs, 
unleashed,  bounded  forward  with  drooped 
necks  and  sentient  nostrils  lifted  up  the  wind. 
Not  even  then  could  Hellsmere  escape  from 
his  attitude  of  mental  absorption.  Though 
an  early  predilection  for  ratting  had 
remained  among  the  most  poignant  mem- 
ories of  his  childhood,  his  subsequent  trend 
had  been  towards  metaphysics  rather  than 
pure  animalism.  Of  a  disposition  too  ana- 
lytical for  the  comparative  directness  and 
simplicity  of  vision  required  in  a  perfect 
sportsman,  he  had  sometimes,  on  occasions 
like  the  present,  been  tempted  to  follow  up  a 
line  of  abstract  reasoning — associated,  per- 
haps, with  the  identity  of  his  ego — even 
when  a  crisis,  such  as  the  opportunity  for  a 
right  and  left,  had  seemed  to  demand  instan- 
taneous action.  This  tendency  had  from 
time  to  time  been  detrimental  in  its  effects 
upon  the  bag. 

And  to-day  he  could  not  throw  off  a 
certain  obsession  of  mind  caused  by  his 
reflections  upon  the  Canticle  of  St.  Francis. 


140  Borrowed  Plumes 

On  reaching  the  commencement  of  the  beat 
he  had  handed  this  work,  along  with  Hume's 
Essays,  Bishop  Berkeley's  Sermons,  and 
Sesame  and  Lilies,to  the  man  who  was  carry- 
ing his  cartridges ;  but  the  words,  "  Praise 
Heaven  for  our  sister  the  grouse,"  kept 
ringing  in  his  ears. 

The  question,  too,  of  intuition  in  dogs 
arrested  his  fancy.  He  derived  an  appreci- 
able ecstasy  from  differentiating  between  the 
instinct  of  a  pointer  for  the  scent  of  the 
living,  and  that  of  a  retriever  for  the  scent  of 
the  dead  or  dying.  How  far  were  these 
qualities  inherent  in  their  natures,  and  how 
far  were  they  a  matter  of  training  ?  And 
why,  in  w^hatever  proportions  inherited  and 
acquired,  were  they  more  permanent  in 
animals  than  in  men?  Why,  for  instance, 
had  he  outgrown  his  taste  for  Presbyterian- 
ism  ?  and  was  it  possible  for  him  to  revert 
to  it  by  the  mere  process  of  reproducing  the 
geographical  conditions  which  evolved  it  ? 

Fascinated  by  the  field  of  argument  opened 
up  by  these  enigmas,  he  was  dimly  conscious 
of  the  subdued  voice  of  the  head-keeper 
inviting  him  to  "  take  a  point."     Mechani- 


Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward        141 

cally  he  walked  towards  the  dog,  that  stood 
poised  Hke  a  rigid  simulacrum  of  itself; 
mechanically  he  advanced  beyond  it,  moving 
as  in  a  dream ;  faintly  murmuring,  *'  For  our 
sister  the  grouse." 

A  sudden  nausea  seized  him,  to  the  partial 
obliteration  of  the  landscape.  Was  it  to  be 
tolerated  that  humanity,  not  content  with 
the  use  of  lethal  weapons  diabolically  pre- 
cise, must  needs  employ  the  instincts  of  one 
of  the  lower  orders  of  creation  for  the  anni- 
hilation of  a  sister  existence?  Surely  the 
whole  question  of  our  moral  responsibility 
to  these  lower  forms,  whether  w^e  label  our- 
selves Positivist,  Deist,  or  Orthodox,  was 
here  involved.  If  we  hypothecate  the  exist- 
ence of  higher  powers,  can  we  count  it 
consistent  wath  their  Divine  nature  to  play 
off  humanity  against  humanity  for  their  own 
better  sport?  A  Pagan  doctrine,  only  ex- 
cusable in  the  makers  of  Trojan  and  col- 
lateral myths. 

And  yet — but  it  was  at  this  point  of  his 
internal  argument  that  the  birds  got  up  and 
went  away  unscathed.  Nor  was  this  all;  for 
the  lamentable  accident  which  ensued  was  a 


142  Borrowed  Plumes 

further  tribute  to  the  complexity  of  Hells- 
mere's  org-anism.  The  desperate  character 
of  his  reflections  had  reduced  him  to  a  state 
of  acute  scepticism,  in  which  he  even  per- 
mitted himself  to  doubt  the  actuality  of  all 
phenomena.  A  wave  of  subjectivity  passed 
over  him.  Meanwhile  he  had,  as  if  auto- 
matically, raised  his  gun  in  the  direction  of 
one  of  the  rising  birds  and  placed  his  finger 
on  the  trigger  of  the  right  barrel.  The 
natural  completion  of  this  action  was  ar- 
rested by  an  inanition  of  will-power  conse- 
quent upon  the  absence  of  his  mind.  The 
arrest  was,  however,  only  temporary.  Be- 
fore he  could  disengage  his  mind  from  the 
conclusion  that  all  phenomena  were  alike  in 
the  quality  of  non-existence,  he  had  per- 
formed a  kind  of  reflex  movement — the 
result  of  associated  ideas — and  pressed  the 
trigger  home.  This  happened — in  even  less 
time  than  has  been  required  for  the  narration 
of  events — at  the  moment  when  his  gillie, 
after  remarking  "Hoot!  mon;  they're 
awa',"  and  advancing  without  further  com- 
ment, had  reached  the  position  vacated  by 


Mrs.  Humphry  Ward         143 

the  bird  at  which  Hellsmere  had  pointed  his 
gun. 

By  great  good  fortune,  the  major  and 
more  crowded  portion  of  the  discharge  was 
intercepted  by  Bishop  Berkeley's  Sermons, 
which  the  man  was  carrying  in  an  empty 
game-bag  slung  across  his  back.  Only  the 
outlying  shot  lodged  in  his  actual  body.  To 
the  inconvenience  caused  by  these  pellets 
Hellsmere  alluded  coldly  in  the  language  of 
Christian  Science,  urging  that  the  injury  was 
apparent  rather  than  real  ;  but  when  repre- 
sentations were  made  to  him  subsequently  in 
the  gun-room  he  cancelled  his  obligations  in 
conformity  with  the  usual  tariff  arranged 
for  these  regrettable  incidents,  the  scale  of 
charges  being  regulated  according  to  the  part 
of  the  person  affected. 

The  account  of  this  contretemps,  appear- 
ing in  the  North  British  papers  on  the  very 
day  of  the  publication  of  his  work  on  Italian 
Liberty,  created  a  great  sensation  in  the  lit- 
erary world,  and  established  the  success  of 
the  volume.  It  was  natural,  therefore,  that 
his  immediate  accession  to  the  ranks  of  the 
Broader  Vegetarianism  should  have  been  a 


144  Borrowed  Plumes 

painful  shock  to  the  friends  who  had 
prophesied  for  him  a  poHtical  career.  Later, 
his  assumption  of  friar's  orders  in  the 
Brotherhood  of  Assisi  caused  Httle  surprise. 
The  transition  was  regarded  as  the  logical 
issue  of  his  previous  departure. 


XIII. 
MR.  W.  E.  HENLEY. 

Out  of  the  large-limbed  night, 

Dewy  and  lush  by  tasselled  glade  and  lawn, 

The  rumble  and  roar  of  roistering  carts, 

Insistent  as  the  unconsolable  sea, 

Rolls  in  to  Covent's  ducal  marts. 

Groaning  with  vegetable  greenery. 

And,  look,  the  eloquent  lark 

Urges  his  upward  indeterminate  flight, 

Thus  early  drunk  with  joy.     Nay,  do  but  hark 

How  the  lithe  milkman  at  his  watery  trade 

Maddens  the  slumber-sodden  kitchen-maid 

With  virile  voluntaries  to  the  dawn  ! 

Now,  while  the  City  wakes 

To  the  old  implacable  game  once  more, 

To  the  lucre-lust  too  hoary  for  life  to  slake. 

Let  us  afield.  Dear  Boy,  and  briefly  skirt 

The  pungent  fumes  of  Piccadilly's  floor, 

And  press  to  where  the  boon  and  buxom  Park 

Trembles   through  all    her    shimmering    trees, 

alert 

10  I4S 


146  Borrowed  Plumes 

To  breathe  the  inviolate  incense  borne 

On  virgin  airs  of  morn. 

But  lo !  what  artless  cavalcade  is  here 

That  spurns  the  Rotten  Way 

With  strenuous  four-foot  thud  and  glimpses  seen 

Of  middle  distance,  saddle  and  thigh  between, 

Worshipping,  Orient-wise,  the  risen  day  ? 

Be  still,  poor  fluttering  heart,  and  vail  thy  fear ! 

This  is  no  heathen  orgie  ;  in  their  eyes 

I  trace  no  hint  of  hierophantic  mirth  ; 

No  passionate  impulse  fires  the  sombre  cheek, 

Sallow  with  crude 

And  unassimilated  food  ; 

Insane  of  appetite,  but  otherwise 

Comparatively  sane, 

In  these  consenting  solitudes. 

Ere  Fashion's  tardier  foot  invade 

A  peace  designed  for  penitential  moods, 

Unvexed  of  the  vulgar  gaze,  they  seek 

To  blood  the  anaemic  vein 

And  stem  the  stomach's  irrepressible  girth. 

Behold,  it  is  the  Fatty-Liver  Brigade  ! 


The  Turf 

Ritigifig — 

The  state  of  the  odds  by  the  layers  of  odds 

Bruited  preposterous 


Mr.  W.  E.  Henley  147 

Over  the  railings 

Into  the  plunger's  infatuate  ear. 

In  days  that  succeeded 

The  purely  chaotic 

Condition  of  Nature, 

Rhymeless,  amorphous, 

Much  like  the  metre 

These  verses  are  made  in — 

In  the  commencement. 

As  I  was  remarking. 

Turf  was  a  feature 

In  Eden,  the  well-known 

Site  of  Creation. 

There  lay  the  prime  horse, 

Absolute,  thoroughbred, 

Showing  no  blot 

In  his  family  'scutcheon. 

Unbridled,  unpaddocked, 

Unnoted  of  tipsters, 

He  took  through  the  Garden 

His  usual  canter. 

Or  sat  on  me,  downy,  absorbing  his  meal. 

Then  spake  our  Parent : 
"  Ho  1  what  a  noble  beast ! 
He,  on  his  backbone, 
Unless  I'm  mistaken, 
Will  carry  posterity 


148  Borrowed  Plumes 

Over  green  places 
On  wings  of  the  morning ; 
The  joy  of  my  offspring  and  pride  of  the 
Race  ! 

Such  was  our  Forefather's 
Dim  adumbration  ; 
There  have  been  other 
More  recent  allusions 
To  sport  on  the  flat ; 
This  was  the  first  of  them  ; 
Then  and  thenceforward 
I  am  the  Turf. 

Circling  and  sweeping 
Round  Tattenham  corner, 
Prone  down  the  hillside, 
The  hell-trap  of  Holocaust, 
Flashes  the  field. 
Out  on  the  home-straight 
(Lo  !  where  the  Derby  dog, 
Openly  imbecile, 
Seizes  this  crucial 
Occasion  for  crossing) 
Forth  fares  the  favourite 
(Cannon  to  rear  of  him) 
Rightly  ignoring 
The  weight  on  his  withers, 
The  subtly  prehensile 


Mr.  W.  E.  Henley  149 


Midget  from  over  there  ; 
And  to  the  manifest 
Mirth  of  his  backers, 
Lifts  his  homunculus 
First  past  the  post. 
That  is  my  moment, 
Crowded,  delirious  ! 
What  did  I  tell  you  ? 
I  am  the  Turf. 

The  Turf 

Turfy— 

The  state  of  the  odds  by  the  layers  of  odds 

Bruited  preposterous 

Over  the  railings 

Ifito  the  plunger^ s  infatuate  tympanum — 

I  a7n  the  Turf. 

*  #  *  * 

Night  and  the  starless  Void, 
And  cloud-rack  canopies  that  veil 
The  undiscoverable  vault  of  heaven  ; 
And,  over  the  City's  coruscating  gloom, 
High  in  his  beetling  four-square  tower. 
Big  Ben,  the  buU's-eyed  Constable, 
Flashing  his  sentinel  beam  for  sign 
How,  underneath,  the  nation's  tireless  brain 
Seethes  at  its  sacerdotal  task  of  framing  laws. 
With  swirl  of  oozy  ebb  the  River  goes 


150  Borrowed  Plumes 

Bedridden,  bargee-blasphemous, 

Lipping  the  terraced  stones 

Outworn  with  commerce  of  tea  and  cakes 

And  jaunty  legislators'  junketings. 

Within,  the  uncommunicative  mace 

(Symbol  of  that  portentous  sovereignty 

Which  stamps  the  people's  choice. 

Arch-progeny  of  the  proletariate  Will) 

Watches  the  tragic  comedy 

Play  out  its  tardy  length  to  stertorous  stalls. 

Hark  where  in  windy  platitudes, 

Compound  of  the  froth  of  undigested  fact 

And  ponderous  tub-thump  wit  of  the  hustings- 
wag. 

Each  for  his  own  advertisement. 

They  rant — they  bellow — they  abuse. 

Here  sits  the  Chief,  disturbed 

From  healthy  spasms  of  philosophic  doubt, 

Politely  querulous  of  his  truant  ranks 

Once  counted  adequate 

To  play  the  not-too-exigent  part 

Of  gentlemanly  walkers-on — 

Now  damned  for  irredeemable  diners-out. 

There  lies  the  Opposition's  fold 

Incurably  divided  from  itself — 

These,  ralliant  to  their  country,  right  or  wrong, 

Those,  cheek  by  jowl  against  her,  wrong  or 
right. 


Mr.  E.  W.  Henley  151 


And,  in  the  desperate  interval,  behold 
The  dubious  Campbell-wether  of  the  flock 
Protagonising  in  his  own  despite, 
And  butted  fore  and  aft 
Whither  not  he  nor  they  precisely  know. 
This  is  our  Ancient  Mother  of  Parliaments, 
Fallen  on  dotage-days 
Varied  by  episodic  savagery, 
But,  for  the  rest, 

Abysmal,  desolate,  irreclaimably  dull. 
What  have  we  done  to  you, 
Mother,  O  Mother, 

That  you  requite  us  with  so  quaint  a  farce. 
Such  disillusioning  parody  of  your  Prime  ? 
*  *  *  * 

Inveterate  airs  that  blow 

As  from  a  dim  orchestral  Age  of  Brass  ; — 

A  rout  of  coryphe'es  that  toil  and  spin 

With  lustre  of  whirling  lace  and  giddy  gyre 

Of  hose  rough-hued  to  ape 

The  arduous  leg  within  ; — 

Sallies  of  immemorial  patriot  wit. 

Potent  to  kill,  but  impotent  to  pass ; — 

And  lo ! 

London's  immeasurable  mouth  agape 

From  gallery  to  tranced  pit 

With  worship ;  her  Imperial  eyes  aglow 

With  the  divine  ecstatic  fire ! 


152  Borrowed  Plumes 

There  is  no  male  here,  this  ambrosial  night, 

But  feels  the  manhood  vocal  in  his  veins. 

There  is  no  woman,  if  I  read  them  right, 

But  in  her  hidden  heart 

Envies  yon  breezy  sylph  the  art 

By  which  she  turns  these  virile  brains 

To  irreducible  pulp,  and  sets  the  breast 

Apant  behind  its  hedge  of  shining  shirt. 

What  unconjecturable  spell 

Inspires  this  exquisite  torture  of  unrest. 

Or  where  the  point  of  what  the  humorous  mime 

Says,  and  the  sudden  midriff  splits — 

Not  I,  who  rarely  enter  here,  can  tell. 

They,  rather,  who  from  unremembered  time 

Follow  the  same  old  Grace's  flying  skirt. 

The  same  old  amorous  play  of  pencilled  eyes. 

And  the  unwearied  acrobacy  of  wits 

Reiterate  past  fear  of  rude  surprise — 

These,  lifting  voluntaries  clear  and  strong. 

May  quire  aloud  what  happy  quest  is  theirs 

Who  tread  the  nightly  stairs 

Of  London's  luminous  Halls  of  Mirth  and  Song. 


XIV. 
MR.  HENRY  JAMES. 

[The  Sacred  Fount.] 

It  superficially  might  liave  seemed  that  to 
answer  Lady  Cheveley's  invitation  to  her 
daughter's  wedding  was  a  matter  that  would 
put  no  intolerable  strain  upon  the  faculties  of 
discriminative  volition.  Yet  the  accident  of 
foreign  travel  had  brought  about  that  this 
formal  invitation,  found  on  my  return,  con- 
stituted my  first  advertisement  of  even  so 
much  as  Vivien  Cheveley's  engagement  to 
M.  le  Comte  Richard  Sansjambes.  The 
original  question,  simplified  as  it  was  by 
public  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  I  regard 
all  ceremonial  functions  with  a  polite  abhor- 
rence, had,  accordingly,  taken  on  a  new 
complexity,  involving  considerations  of  a 
high  sociologic  interest;  as,  notably, 
153 


I  54  Borrowed  Plumes 

whether, and,  if  at  all,  in  what  form,  I  should 
offer  the  lady  my  felicitations. 

My  obsession  by  these  problems  over  a 
space  of  four-and-twenty  hours  was  only 
partially  relieved  by  contact  with  the  diver- 
tissements of  Piccadilly  as  I  drove  to  the 
Prytaneum  Club.  To  my  hansom's  tempo- 
rary arrest,  however,  attributable  to  the 
stream  of  vehicles  converging  in  a  transverse 
sense  at  the  corner  of  St.  James's  Street,  I 
owed  an  interval  of  recrudescent  delibera- 
tion. During  that  so  tense  period  I  conscien- 
tiously— such  is  the  force  of  confirmed  habit 
- — reviewed  all  the  permissible  methods — 
and  scarce  fewer  than  a  round  dozen  of 
variants  lay  at  that  moment  in  my  right 
breast-pocket — of  addressing  a  woman- 
friend  on  the  occasion  of  her  betrothal. 
Ahvays  the  equivocal  detachment  of  an 
unrejected  bachelor  had  for  me  the  air  of 
imparting  to  these  crises,  poignant  enough 
in  themselves,  a  touch  of  invidious  dilemma. 
The  delicate  question  why  the  felicitator 
himself — to  hypothecate  his  eligibility — had 
not  been  a  candidate  for  the  lady's  heart,  a 
question    answerable,    on    the    lips    of    her 


Mr.  Henry  James  155 

friends,  by  a  theory  of  self-depreciation,  and, 
on  those  of  her  enemies,  by  one  of  indiffer- 
ence, remained — unless  he  chose,  as  one  says, 
to  "  give  himself  away " — incapable  of 
adequate  solution. 

For  myself,  it  is  true,  by  way  of  a  passable 
solace  in  this  cornucopious  predicament, 
there  was  my  known  prejudice,  amounting 
almost,  I  am  told,  to  a  confessed  morbidity, 
in  favour  of  the  celibate  state.  It  was  still, 
however,  open  to  the  contention  of  malice 
that  I,  nevertheless,  conceivably  might  have 
— whereas,  in  fact,  I  had  not — submitted  to 
the  lady's  charms,  had  they — as  they  appar- 
ently had  not — been  of  a  sufficiently  over- 
whelming nature.  But  this,  relatively,  was, 
after  all,  a  trivial  embarrassment,  mastered, 
on  more  occasions,  already,  than  one,  by  a 
delicate  subtlety  of  diction,  in  which  I  permit 
myself  to  take  a  pardonable  pride. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Vivien,"  I,  recalling  the 
terms  of  a  parallel  correspondence,  had 
written,  "  what  brings  to  you,  for  whom  I 
entertain  a  so  profound  regard,  brings,  to 
me  also,  an  exquisite  joy."  And,  again, alter- 
natively, and  in  a  phraseology  more  instinct 


156  Borrowed  Plumes 

with  poetry  and  pith — "  I,  in  your  gladness, 
am  myself  glad."  And,  once  more,  with,  I 
confess,  a  greater  aloofness,  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  positing,  by  implication,  a  plurality  of 
suitors  to  select  from : — "  Quite  indubitably 
enviable  is  the  man  on  whom  your  choice 
has  fallen." 

But  what  complicated  the  situation  and 
left  me  hesitant  between  these  and,  roughly, 
some  nine  other  openings,  was  the  reflection 
that,  in  point  of  fact,  I  had  never  set  eyes  on 
the  Count,  nor  yet  even  heard — and  with 
this  my  long  absence  from  England  must  be 
charged — the  lightest  tale  of  him.  ^Mightn't 
it  be,  after  all,  a  marriage,  purely,  I  asked 
myself,  of  convenience? — wealth,  possibly,  a 
title,  certainly,  exchanged  for  the  asset  of 
youthful  bloom?  Mightn't  it  be — and  there 
was  recorded  precedent  for  this — that  the 
man,  being  French,  as  one  gathered,  and 
calling  himself  by  a  foreign  title — a  preten- 
sion, commonly,  that  invited  scepticism — 
had  exerted  over  her  some  ]\Iagic,  or  even, 
taking  into  account  both  his  foreignness  and 
his  Counthood,  as  much  as  Two  ]Magics? 
Or,  again,  most  deplorable  of  all,  mightn't 


Mr.  Henry  James  157 

he  have  acquired  a  liolcl  upon  her  by  secret 
knowledge  of  some  skeleton,  as  the  phrase  is, 
in  her  private  cupboard;  an  intrigue,  let  us 
daringly  say,  with  a  former  butler,  banished 
for  that  delinquency  and  harbouring  ven- 
geance against  her  house  by  the  revelation 
of  her  complicity? 

But  here  I  subconsciously  reminded  my- 
self that  the  nicest  adepts  in  abstract  psychol- 
ogy may,  if  they  do  but  sufficiently  long 
address  themselves  to  problems  abnormally 
occult,  become  the  prey  of  a  diseased  ima- 
gination. And  by  great  good  luck  the  for- 
ward movement  of  my  hansom,  now  disem- 
broiled from  the  traffic,  which  had  thrown 
off  something  of  its  congestion,  caused  a 
current  of  air  which  allowed  me,  the  glass 
being  up,  a  saner  purview  of  the  question. 
"  When  I  reach  the  Prytaneum,  I'll,"  I 
said,  "  look  the  gentleman  up  in  the 
Almanack  de  Gotha."  This,  in  fact,  had  been 
among  the  motives,  had  been,  I  might  even 
say,  the  dominating  motive,  of  my  visit  to 
the  Club. 

That  atmosphere  of  considered  serenity 
which  meets  one  at  the  very  portals  of  the 


158  Borrowed  Plumes 

Prytaneum,  and  is  of  an  efficacy  so  para- 
mount for  the  allaying  of  neurotic  disorders, 
had  already  relieved  the  tension  of  my  intro- 
spective mood  by  the  time  that  I  had  entered 
the  fumoir  and  rung  for  cigarettes  and  min- 
eral water.  The  greeting,  familiarly  curt, 
that  reached  me  from  an  armchair  near  the 
fire,  was  traceable,  it  appeared,  to  Guy  Mal- 
laby.  Here,  I  was  glad  to  think,  I  had 
found  a  living  supplement  to  the  Almanach, 
for  I  remembered  him  to  have  been  a  friend, 
some  had  even  said  a  blighted  admirer,  of 
Vivien  Cheveley.  He  had  married,  whether 
for  consolation  or  from  pique,  his  cook;  and 
I  now  noticed,  in  a  glance  that  embraced  him 
cursorily,  that  his  girth  had,  since  his  mar- 
riage, increased  by  some  four  to  six  inches. 
It  could  scarce  be  more  than  a  rude  esti- 
mate, viewing  the  fact  that  I  had  no  tape- 
measure  about  me,  an  adjunct  that  I  from 
time  to  time  have  found  serviceable  in  cases 
that,  apparently,  called  for  mere  psychologic 
diagnosis ;  nor,  had  I  so  had,  am  I  convinced 
that  I  should,  in  this  instance,  have  allowed 
myself  the  application  of  it.  Simply  I  moved 
towards  him,  and,  at  the  same  time,  yielding 


Mr.  Henry  James  159 

to  the  usage  which  a  twelve-months  absence 
requires,  held  out  my  hand.  He  took  it  with, 
as  I  thought,  a  certain  surprise,  quickly 
dissembled,  but  not,  as  I  repeat,  before  I'd 
mentally  remarked  it. 

At  any  other  juncture  I  should  have  been 
closely  tempted  to  pursue  the  train  of  infe- 
rence suggested  by  this  phenomenon;  but 
just  then,  for  the  moment,  I  was  preoccupied. 
Besides,  anyhow,  his  initial  observation 
proved  his  astonishment  to  be  derived  from 
a  quite  transparent,  if  not  altogether  venial, 
cause.  "  Been  out  of  town,"  he  asked,  "  for 
Christmas?"  I  confess  that,  though  I  had 
the  good  breeding  not  to  betray  it,  this 
speech,  the  tone  of  which,  under  ordinary 
conditions,  would  not  have  affected  me  to  the 
point  of  regarding  it  as  a  truancy  beyond  the 
prescribed  bounds  of  gentlemanly  casualness, 
caused  me,  having  regard  to  the  circum- 
stance of  my  long  absence,  a  calculable  pain 
in  my  amour  propre.  Never  so  vividly  had 
not  merely  the  complexity,  almost  cosmic,  of 
life  in  the  Metropolis,  its  multiform  interests 
and  issues  so  exigently  absorbing,  but  also 
the  inconspicuousness  of  the  vacuum  created 


1 60  Borrowed  Plumes 

by  the  withdrawal  of  any  single — in  this  case 
my  own — personalit}-,  been  forced  upon  my 
attention. 

Here,  again,  at  any  other  time,  I  should 
have  found  abundant  matter  for  analysis; 
but  the  entrance  of  the  waiter  with  my  cig- 
arettes and  mineral  water,  one  of  the  former 
of  which  I  deliberately  lighted,  recalled  me 
from  this  inviting  diversion.  By  a  natural 
process  of  reaction  I  become  cognisant  of 
the  necessity,  every  moment  more  pressing, 
of  composing  an  answer  to  Mallaby's  ques- 
tion. 

Scarce  anything  could  have  been  easier 
than  so  to  impregnate  my  reply  wuth  the 
truth,  whole  and  unadulterated,  as  to  compel, 
on  his  side,  an  embarrassment  which  I,  for 
one,  should  have  viewed,  in  the  retrospect, 
as  regrettable.  Yet,  for  a  full  three-quarters 
of  a  minute,  towards  the  latter  half  of  which 
period  it  was  evident  that  Mallaby  conceived 
my  memory  to  have  strangely  lapsed,  the 
temptation  possessed  me  to  follow  the  course 
I  have  just  indicated.  But,  in  the  issue — 
whether  more  from  a  desire  to  spare  his 
feelings,  or,  at  least  as  much,  because  the 


Mr.  Henry  James  i6i 

practice  of  finesse,  even  in  conjunctions  of 
•negligible  import,  has  had  for  me  always  a 
conc[uering  fascination,  I  cannot  determine 
— I,  with  a  terseness  sufficiently  antiphonal 
to  his  own  replied: — "Yes,  Monte  Carlo.'' 

Then,  from  an  apprehension  that  he  might 
follow  up  his  enquiries — for  my  travels  had, 
in  actual  fact,  been  confined  to  Central  Asia 
and  the  transit  there  and  in  an  opposite  sense 
— or  invite  a  reciprocal  curiosity,  on  my 
part,  in  regard  to  his  Christmas,  "  By  the 
way,"  I,  as  if  by  a  natural  continuity  of 
thought,  added,  "  who  is  this  Count  Richard 
Sansjambes  that  is  to  marry  Miss  Cheve- 
ley?  "  At  the  same  time,  not  to  appear  too 
intrigued  by  the  matter  in  question,  I  with- 
drew my  cigarette  from  my  mouth,  flicked  it 
lightly  in  air,  and  then  abstractedly  replaced 
it,  less  the  ash. 

I'd  scarce  done  asking  myself  whether  I'd 
formulated  my  enquiry  into  the  identity  of 
this  Sansjambes  with  an  air  of  sufficient 
detachment,  or,  in  default  of  this,  had  so 
clearly  underlined  the  suggestion  of  indiffer- 
ence by  my  manner  of  manipulating  my  cig- 
arette as  to  assure  myself  against  the  possible 


1 62  Borrowed  Plumes 

suspicion,  easily  avoidable,  I  had  hoped,  of  a 
too  immediately  concerned  curiosity,  when 
"  Ah !  the  fellow  without  legs !  "  replied  Mal- 
laby,  with,  as  it,  perhaps  unwarrantably, 
seemed  to  me,  a  levity  so  flippant  that  it 
might  have  appalled  a  controversialist  less 
seasoned  by  practice  than  I'd  the  permissible 
satisfaction  of  crediting  myself  with  the  re- 
putation of  being. 

"  But  you  have  not  then  lost  it  ?  "  I  threw 
off,  on  a  note  of  implicit  irony. 

"Lost  what?"  he  asked. 

"  Your  old  facility,  of  course,  in  jeu.v 
d'esprit,"  I  explained. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  replied,  "  my 
translation  of  Sansjambes  is  not  more  literal 
than  the  facts  themselves !  " 

His  answer  was  so  quite  what  I  had  not 
foreseen,  that  I  was  surprised,  as  by  a  sudden 
reflex  jerk  of  the  muscles,  into  an  unwonted 
lucidity  of  diction. 

"  How  did  he  lose  them  ?  "  I  asked. 

"He  didn't;  he  never  had  any  to  lose!" 
Mallaby,  with  unnecessary  brutality,  replied. 
"  An  early  ancestor  lost  his  under  the  walls 
of  Acre.     Pre-natal  influences  affected  his 


Mr.  Henry  James  163 

first-born,  and  ever  since  then  the  family  has 
had  no  legs  in  the  direct  line." 

"But  the  title?" — I  was  still  too  alto- 
gether the  sport  of  siirexcitation  nicely  to 
weigh  my  words. 

"  The  gallant  ancestor's  own  choice — 
prior,  naturally,  to  the  birth  of  his  heir — to 
perpetuate  the  deed  of  prowess  that  won  it. 
And  his  descendants  take  it  on  as  a  matter 
of  pride." 

By  this  I'd  sufficiently  recovered  my  habi- 
tual aplomb  to  be  in  a  position,  while  reserv- 
ing my  perfected  conclusions  for  a  less 
disturbing  occasion,  to  collate,  as  I  sipped 
my  drink,  a  few  notes  on  the  comparative 
periods  of  sustained  effervescence  in  the 
cases,  respectively,  of  Seltzer  and  Salutaris. 

"  And  the  cause  you  assign  to  this  pro- 
jected marriage?  "  I  then,  less  with  a  desire 
for  enlightenment,  asked,  than,  my  own 
judgment  being  made  up  to  the  point  of 
finality,  to  seem  to  flatter  him  by  an  appeal 
to  Jiis. 

"  Oh,  there's  money,  of  course,"  he  an- 
swered.   "  But  that  isn't  all.    It's  the  old  tale 


1 64  Borrowed  Plumes 

— Eve,  apple,  curiosity,  with  a  touch  of  the 
brute  thrown  in !  " 

You  could  have  knocked  me  down,  in  the 
vulgar  phrase,  with  a  feather.  Here  was 
Guy  Mallaby,  immeasurably  my  unequal  in 
fineness  of  spirit,  laying  his  fat  finger  plumb 
on  the  open  offence,  while  I  was  still  com- 
placently nosing  it  on  a  false  scent  of 
Womanly  Pity.  True,  he  had  enjoyed  a 
three-months  start  of  me  in  the  running 
down  of  a  mystery  that  doubled  too  distract- 
ingly  on  its  traces  for  that  instinctive  flair  to 
which  I  hitherto  had  urged  a  predominant 
claim ;  or  was  it  the  cook-wife  that  had 
piqued,  through  the  stomach's  Sacred  Fount, 
his  intellectual  appetite?  Gratuitously  to 
admit  him  my  superior  on  the  strength  of  a 
forestalled  judgment  was  the  last  of  a  quite 
surprising  number  of  alternatives  that  just 
then  occurred  to  me. 

"  I'm  going  to  look  in  on  Lady  Jane,"  I 
made  evasion. 

"  She'll,  if  she's  honest,  endorse  my  con- 
jecture; she's  a  woman!  "  he,  without  hesita- 
tion, observed. 

More    interestingly    stimulated    than     I 


Mr.  Henry  James  165 

could,  at  the  moment,  remember  to  have  been 
by  any  previous  visit  to  the  Prytaneum,  I 
made  my  way  westward  down  the  Mall  of 
St.  James's  Park,  taking  the  broad  boulevard 
on  the  left.  In  the  particular  atmosphere  of 
exaltation  by  which  I  perceived  myself  to  be 
environed,  it  was  easy  to  image  these  wid- 
owed avenues  in  their  midsummer  fulness, 
to  revive  their  inarticulate  romance,  to  re- 
store, in  the  grand  style,  the  pomp  of  their 
verdurous  pageantry.  Oh,  there  was  quite 
enough  of  analogy  to  reclothe  a  whole  Arden 
of  As  you  like  it  !  It  was  really  portentous 
on  what  a  vista  of  alluring  speculations  I'd 
all  but  originally  stumbled;  virgin  forest,  in 
fact,  before  the  temerity  of  just  one  pioneer, 
and  that  a  woman,  had  stripped  it  this  very 
summer  so  pitilessly  bare.  With  how  fine 
an  abstraction  from  the  moralities  I'd,  in  the 
way  of  pure  analysis,  have  probed  its 
fungus-roots,  have  dissected  its  saffron- 
bellied  toads,  have  sampled  its  ambiguous 
spices.  And  to  have  utilised  a  legless  abor- 
tion for  the  genius  of  its  undergrowths ! 

But  I  soon  became  aware  of  an  appreciable 
recoil  from  the  initial  acerbity  of  my  self- 


1 66  Borrowed  Plumes 

reproach  at  being  anticipated  by  the  author 
of  Sir  Richard  Calmady,  when,  upon  a  more 
meticulous  reflection — for,  by  this  time,  I'd 
arrived  opposite  the  footpath  leading  over 
the  bridge  that  commands  the  lake  and  its 
collection,  recognisably  unique,  of  water- 
fowl— I'd  convinced  myself  how  little  of 
consonance  was  to  be  found  between  this 
theme  and  the  general  trend  of  my  predilec- 
tions. About  the  loves  of  a  so  ineffable 
prodigy — and  to  differentiate  them  as  lawful 
or  lawless  didn't,  for  me,  modify  the  fact  of 
their  uniform  repulsiveness — I  detected  a 
quality  something  too  preposterously  fla- 
grant, an  element  ?(?i  pen  trop  criant  of  pun- 
gent indelicacy.  It  needed  only  this  flash  of 
recognition  at  once  to  disabuse  me  of  all 
regret  for  having  been  forestalled  in  the 
treatment  of  a  subject  of  which  the  narrow 
scope  it  offered  for  the  play  of  hypersen- 
sitised  subtlety  remained  the  incurably  fatal 
defect. 

So  immediate,  indeed,  and  so  absolute  was 
my  mental  recovery  that  I  had  scarce  cleared 
the  fagade  of  Buckingham  Palace  and  ad- 
dressed myself  to  what  I  have,  from  time  to 


Mr.  Henry  James  167 

time,  regarded  as  the  almost  contemptibly 
easy  ascent  of  Constitution  Hill,  before  I  had 
in  mind  to  rush  to  the  opposite  extreme, 
totally,  in  fact,  to  disregard  the  relation  of 
legs  to  the  question  at  issue.  I  won't,  I  said, 
allow  the  hereditary  absence  of  this  feature 
from  the  Count's  ensemble  to  prejudice,  one 
way  or  another,  the  solution,  which  I  hope 
ultimately  to  achieve,  of  the  original  prob- 
lem, namely,  should  I,  or  shouldn't  I,  offer 
my  congratulations  to  Vivien  Cheveley?  and 
that  second  problem,  subordinately  asso- 
ciated with  the  first,  namely,  what  form,  if 
any,  should  those  congratulations  assume? 
But  I  was  instantly  to  perceive  the  super- 
precipitancy  of  my  revulsion.  It  imposed 
itself,  and  with  a  clarity  past  all  possible 
ignoring,  that  in  this  matter  of  the  Count's 
legs  the  introduction  of  a  new  element — or, 
to  be  accurate,  the  withdrawal  of  an  old  one 
so  usual  as  to  have  been  carelessly  assumed 
— was  bound,  whatever  dissimulation  was 
attempted,  to  command  notice.  The  gentle- 
man's lower  limbs  were,  to  an  undeniably 
overwhelming  degree,  conspicuous,  as  the 
phrase  runs,  by  their  absence.    A  fresh  con- 


1 68  Borrowed  Plumes 

dition,  as  unique  as  it  was  unforeseen,  had, 
with  a  disturbing  vitality,  invaded  what  had 
given  promise,  in  the  now  remote  outset,  of 
being  an  argument  on  merely  abstract  and 
impersonal  lines.  For,  even  if  one  postu- 
lated in  the  bride  the  delicatest  of  motives,  a 
passion,  let  us  assume,  to  repair  a  defect  of 
Nature,  as  much  as  to  say,  figuratively, 
"  You  that  are  blind  shall  see  through  my 
eyes,"  or,  more  literally,  "  You,  having  no 
legs  to  speak  of,  are  to  find  in  me  a  vicarious 
locomotion,"  even  so  a  sensitive  creature 
might  wince  at  the  suspicion  that  the  lan- 
guage of  congratulation  was  but  a  stammer- 
ing tribute  to  the  quality,  in  her,  of  inscru- 
table heroism. 

And  there  w^as  still  an  equal  apprehension 
to  deplore,  should  it  appear  that  it  was  to  an 
artistic  faculty,  on  the  lady's  part,  capable, 
imaginatively,  of  reconstructing,  from  the 
fragmentary  outlines  of  his  descendant,  the 
originalh'  unimpaired  completeness  of  the 
gallant  ancestor — much  as  the  old  moon 
shows  dimly  perfect  in  the  hollow  of  the 
young  crescent — that  the  Count  owed  his 
acceptability  in  her  eyes. 


Mr.  Henry  James  169 

*'  There  it  is !  "  I  said,  and  at  the  same 
moment  inadvertently  grasped  the  extended 
hand  of  a  constable  at  the  corner  of  Hamil- 
ton Place;  "  there's  no  escaping  from  the 
obsession  of  this  inexorable  fact.  It  colours 
the  whole  abstract  problem  only  a  little  less 
irritatingly  than,  I  can  well  believe,  it  has 
coloured  the  poor  Count's  existence."  And 
I'd  scarce  so  much  as  begun  to  exhaust  the 
possible  bearings  of  the  case  in  their  absorb- 
ing relation  to  simply  me,  as  distinct  from 
the  parties  more  deeply  committed  and  so, 
presumably,  exposed  to  the  impact  of  yet 
other  considerations. 

For,  what  lent  a  further  complexity  to  the 
situation  was  that,  even  to  suppose  me  ar- 
rived at  the  conclusion,  effectively  supported, 
that  her  motive  for  this  so  painfully  trun- 
cated alliance  was  commendable,  it  still  left 
her  the  liberty,  accentuated  by  the  conditions 
at  which  I  have  glanced,  to  misinterpret 
mine  in  congratulating  her  upon  it.  And  if, 
on  the  other  hand,  her  engagement  were 
attributable  to  unworthy  or  frivolous  causes, 
wouldn't  the  consciousness  of  this,  on  her 


I/O  Borrowed  Plumes 

side,  give  even  stronger  countenance  to  a 
suspicion  of  mere  impertinence  on  mine? 

That  her  motive  indeed  had  been  no  better 
than  one  of  curiosity — mother  Eve's,  in  fact, 
for  exploring  the  apple-tree — was  the  con- 
tention of  Mallaby,  and  by  him  expressed 
with  so  resolved  an  assurance  that  it  had,  as 
I  only  now  remembered,  won  me  over,  at  the 
time,  by  its  convincing  probability.  Hadn't 
his  confidence  even  gone  the  length  of  claim- 
ing Lady  Jane  as  of  the  same  camp?  And 
this  recalled  for  me,  what  I  had  temporarily 
ignored  in  the  so  conflicting  rush  of  ideas, 
the  primary  objective  of  my  present  discur- 
sion.  I'd  overlooked  the  bifurcation  of  ways 
where  the  traverse  to  South  Audley  Street 
leads  in  the  direction  of  Lady  Jane's  house; 
and  now  was  poising  irresolutely  before 
crossing  at  the  convergence  of  Upper  Brook 
Street  and  Park  Lane. 

But  after  all,  I  asked  myself,  was  a 
woman's  final  word  really  just  the  thing  I 
stood  in  dearest  need  of  in  so  nice  a  hesi- 
tancy? If  /  was  conscious  of  a  certain  strain 
in  seeking  to  confine  this  incident  of  freakish 
abbreviation  to  its  properly  obscure  place  in 


Mr.  Henry  James  171 

the  picture,  would  not  she,  with  all  her  sex's 
reluctance  to  attack  any  question  from  an 
abstract  standpoint,  experience  an  insuper- 
able difficulty  in  assigning  to  the  Count's 
deficiency  its  relative  "  value "  ?  And 
mightn't  I,  in  a  moment  of  unguarded  gal- 
lantry, of  simulated  deference,  let  me  put  it, 
to  her  (Lady  Jane's)  assumption  of  a  larger 
knowledge  of  women,  or,  say,  simply  a  more 
profound  intimacy  with  the  particular 
woman,  be  carried  away,  against  what  I 
foresaw,  even  at  this  incipient  stage  of  my 
reflections,  would,  in  the  event,  turn  out  to 
be  my  better  judgment,  on  a  veritable  whirl 
of  grossly  material  considerations?  At 
worst,  after  all,  there's  still,  I  said,  the  last 
resort  of  an  answer  in  the  third  person,  de- 
clining the  wedding  invitation  on  a  plea, 
strictly  untrue,  of  an  earlier  engagement. 
Meantime,  while  so  many  hitherto  unre- 
garded aspects  of  the  matter  called  on  my 
intelligence  for  their  dues,  the  fabric  of  my 
problem  was,  I  told  myself,  of  a  delicacy  too 

exquisite  for 

{^Left  reflecting  on  kerbstone. 


XV. 

M.  MAURICE  MAETERLINCK. 

[I. — D7'ania.] 

Hark  !  One  would  say  there  is  a  symbol 
coming  down  the  corridor.     Oh !  Oh ! 

sfc  ^  3j:  ^ 

Nineteenth  Deaf  Man.  I  cannot  hear  any- 
thing; and  my  eyesight  is  defective. 

Deafest  Deaf  Man.  I  do  not  know  what 
he  is  saying.  I  do  not  know  what  anybody 
is  saying. 

Least  Deaf  Man.  I  am  glad  that  I  am 
not  blind.  It  must  be  very  inconvenient  to 
be  blind. 

:){  ^  i(c  H^ 

Where  is  my  pet  lamb?    I  do  not  see  it  on 
the  sofa  as  usual.     Ah!  ah!  I  smell  mint- 
sauce.     No,  I  will  not  take  any  luncheon 
to-day.    I  loved  it  so.    It  was  not  altogether 
172 


M.  Maurice  Maeterlinck      173 

like  other   lambs.     It   was   more  ominous. 
And  now  it  is  cold! 

*  *  *  H« 

Hush !  Not  so  loud.  Sister  Ann  may 
overhear  you.  She  is  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  yards  away  under  a  willow;  but  you 
never  can  tell  how  far  her  soul  reaches. 
Perhaps  it  covers  as  much  as  three  acres. 

*  *  *  * 

Sister  Migraine,  I  have  a  headache.  Have 
you  a  headache,  Sister  Migraine?  I  think  I 
am  going  to  be  very  unhappy. 

*  *  *  * 

I  ought  not  to  sit  on  the  edge  of  a  well 
and  keep  on  throwing  my  wedding-ring  into 
the  sun.  What  shall  I  do  if  I  drop  it  into 
the  water?  There!  I  have  dropped  it  into 
the  water!     What  shall  I  do? 

*  *  *  * 

There  is  somebody  the  other  side  of  the 
door.  There  is  always  somebody  the  other 
side  of  a  door. 

^  5|C  ^  5fC 

My  hair  inundates  my  entire  being.  It  is 
longer  than  two  of  me.    Oh,  see,  it  has  come 


174  Borrowed  Plumes 

right  down  from  the  balcony.     No,  no,  you 
must  not  try  and  climb  up  by  it. 

^  ^  ^  ^ 

Did  I  wrench  your  arms  too  much?  No? 
Yet  I  heard  your  bones  sigh  together  like 
little  mice  in  a  wainscot.  Do  not  look  at 
me  so  aloofly,  as  if  your  soul  were  for  ever  in 
the  next  room. 

^  ^  ^  ^ 

My  eyes  will  not  close.  Why  will  not  my 
eyes  close  ?  I  must  very  soon  say  something 
to  somebody. 

>{c  ;|;  >|t  jjc 

Oh  !  Oh !  I  have  a  pain  in  my  destiny.  It 
is  just  here.  It  is  not  indigestion.  Oh,  no! 
it  is  certainly  not  indigestion.  [TJiis  makes 
a  very  good  ending.] 

^  4=  ^  >k 

[At  the  Royalty  Theatre.] 

Pelleas.  It  is  dark,  Melisande.  Can  you 
see  to  work  in  the  dark,  Melisande? 

Melisande.  Yes.  I  can  see  to  work  in 
the  dark.  But  it  is  not  dark,  Pelleas.  The 
limelight  goes  all  round  me.  Cannot  you 
see  the  limelight  all  round  me? 

YnioJd  {at  the  window).     There's  little 


M.  Maurice  Maeterlinck      175 

papa !  there's  little  papa !  I  am  going  to 
meet  little  papa !  [Exit. 

Pelleas.  Your  husband  will  find  us  in  the 
dark  together, 

Melisande.  No;  he  will  not  find  us  in  the 
dark  together.  There  is  limelight  all  about 
me.  Did  I  not  tell  you  there  is  limelight  all 
about  me? 

[Enter-Golaud  and  little  Yniold,  the  latter 
with  a  wax-candle. '\ 

Golaud.  You  two  were  in  the  dark  to- 
gether. 

Melisande  {fretfully).  No;  we  were  not 
in  the  dark  together.  There  is  limelight  all 
over  me.  Cannot  you  see  the  limelight  all 
over  me?  I  called  the  attention  of  Pelleas 
to  it  just  now;  but  he  keeps  on  forgetting 
about  it. 

Yniold.  I  have  brought  a  candle.  Oh, 
look,  little  papa ;  she  has  been  crying !  Little 
mamma  has  been  crying! 

Golaud.  Do  not  hold  the  candle  under  her 
eyes! 

Melisande.  I  do  not  mind  the  candle  if  he 
likes  to  hold  it  under  my  eyes.  The  candle 
is  of  no  use  whatever.     Tlie  candle  is  less 


1 76  Borrowed  Plumes 

than  the  Hmehght.    Anybody  can  see  by  the 
hmehght  that  I  have  been  crying. 

Golaiid.  I  do  not  hke  the  look  of  things. 
Still,  there  is  the  limelight,  as  she  says.  The 
limelight  must  have  somebody  to  work  it. 
I  will  go  and  ask  some  questions  of  the 
limelight-man. 


[II.— Philosophy.'] 

Events  happen ;  but  sometimes  they  tarry 
and  need  encouragement  from  us.  At  the 
age  of  fourteen  we  may  be  aware  that  we 
are  ordained  to  die  at  thirty ;  yet  we  may  go 
to  meet  destiny  halfway,  by  jumping  off  a 
precipice  at  two-and-twenty. 

^  ^  ^  5^ 

One  could  always  tell  which  of  one's 
schoolfellows  was  going  to  die  accidentally 
young.  They  used  to  walk  apart  under 
trees ;  generally  willows. 

^  ^  ^  5(: 

I  have  known  people  who  began  by  being 
beside  themselves,  and  gradually  got  quite  a 


M.  Maurice  Maeterlinck       177 

long  distance  away.     And  they  never  knew 
till  somebody  called  their  attention  to  it. 

*  ■'.'  •■I-  * 

Each  one  of  us  has  a  star  from  which 
descends  one  woman  only,  however  multi- 
fold her  disguises.  Superficially,  one  would 
say  that  Bluebeard  had  several  wives.  This 
is  an  error.     He  was  actually  monogamous. 

>fi  ^  ^  Jfc 

It  matters  not  on  what  subject  the  pre- 
destined talks.  It  may  be  that  her  speech  is 
of  a  new  bangle  that  she  covets.  None  the 
less  it  is  on  the  roof-tiles  of  the  immeasurable 
that  we  float  together. 

^  >fi  ^  ^ 

Some  people  are  less  fortunate  than 
others ;  some  are  more  so.  For  these  an  event 
beckons  behind  every  blasted  willow.  They 
cannot  open  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  simplest 
subterranean  passage,  without  running  into 
a  booby-trap,  or  a  crouching  allegory,  or 
something. 

*  *  *  * 

The  persons  of  the  Old  Tragedy  had  no 

leisure  left  from  the  thousand  and  thousand 

claims  of  murder  or  suicide.     Yet  the  real 
12 


1/8  Borrowed  Plumes 

tragedy  of  life  is  found  in  the  domestic  bliss 
of  the  family  circle. 

*  *  *  * 

The  spectacle  of  a  plain,  fourfooted  cow 
sitting  alone  with  her  destiny,  chewing  the 
cud,  and  altogether  unconscious  of  the  laws 
of  the  Equinox,  has  in  it  I  know  not  what  of 
tragic  that  moves  me  more  than  the  crash  of 
conflicting  mastodons. 

*  *  *  * 

The  true  force  of  the  drama  lies  not  in 
making  your  characters  say  the  things  that 
are  indispensable  to  the  situation;  but  in 
making  them  think  the  thoughts  that  do  not 
occur  to  them.  Sometimes  these  may  be 
represented  by  a  loud  aside  without  paren- 
theses. But  silence  is  also  good ;  for  it  is,  I 
know  not  how,  by  the  things  we  omit  to  say 
that  the  sources  of  the  soul  become  intel- 
ligible.    Still,  it  is  all  very  difficult. 


XVI. 
MR.  G.  BERNARD  SHAW. 

It  was  never  my  intention  that  the  dis- 
abihties  which  hampered  the  many  strong- 
men who  preceded  Agamemnon  should 
hamper  me.  They  were,  I  take  it,  a  brainless 
crew,  busy  with  doing  things  instead  of  get- 
ting themselves  talked  about.  There  is 
always  a  solution  (which  seems  to  have 
escaped  them)  for  the  difficulty  of  finding  a 
sacred  bard  to  record  you.  Be  your  own 
sacred  bard. 

*  *  *  * 

In  most  periods  the  lonely  genius,  who  is 
afterwards  described  as  the  outcome  of  his 
age,  though  he  invariably  has  to  create  the 
taste  by  which  he  is  ultimately  appreciated, 
has  been  regarded,  if  regarded  at  all  by  his 
jejune  contemporaries,  as  a  poseur.  It  hap- 
pens that  I  have  been  so  regarded,  and 
179 


i8o  Borrowed  Plumes 

rightly.  Now,  to  correct  the  unhappy  results 
of  such  an  impression,  in  itself  accurate, 
there  is  one  salutary  antidote.  It  is  to  pose 
about  your  pose.  That  is  what  I  am  doing 
now. 

*  *  *  * 

The  middle  classes,  fed  to  suffocation  on 
the  Romanticism  of  drawing-room  drama 
and  the  Family  Herald,  take  unkindly  to  the 
social  iconoclast.  It  is,  therefore,  the  busi- 
ness of  this,  the  highest  type  of  philanthropic 
reformer,  to  include  his  ow^n  image,  or  eikon, 
among  those  that  he  sets  out  to  pulverise 
beyond  hope  of  recognition.  Let  him  engage 
himself  as  his  own  Aunt  Sally,  and  so  estab- 
lish the  impartiality  of  his  critical  attitude. 
^  ^  ^  ^ 

1  have  a  right  horror  of  the  egoism  which 
finds  amusement  in  making  an  enigma  of 
itself  at  the  expense  of  a  public  that  has  an 
itch  for  personal  revelation.  My  moral  posi- 
tion is  of  an  almost  pellucid  transparency.  I 
am  an  intellectual  Puritan  to  the  finger-tips, 
with  an  affectionate  tolerance  for  the  can- 
dour of  a  Merciitio.  That  is  a  conjunction, 
surely,    that   asks    no   apologia   explication. 


Mr.  G.  Bernard  Shaw         1 8 1 

And  I  will  be  yet  more  open  with  the  world, 
and  declare  myself  the  charlatan  I  am.  If 
I  have  given  my  friends  to  understand  that  I 
am  immeasurably  superior  to  Shakespear,  I 
was  trading-  upon  their  credulity.  In  point 
of  fact,  he  is  very  nearly  my  equal;  as  a 
dramatic  technician,  that  is;  not,  of  course, 
as  an  exponent  of  latter-day  philosophy. 

*  :[;  *  * 

Perhaps  the  most  pathetic  feature  in  the 
modern  drama — and  Shakespear  himself  is 
not  altogether  blameless  in  this  connection — 
is  its  fatuous  pencJiant  for  associating  action 
with  motive.  Yet,  in  real  life,  if  there  is  one 
thing  more  obvious  than  another  (which  I 
doubt)  it  is  that  the  commonest  motive  for 
action  is  to  have  none  at  all.  Take  arson. 
You  will  say  that  arson  is  a  relatively  un- 
typical expression  of  energy.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  see  it  mentioned  in  the  papers  at 
least  once  a  quarter.  Take  arson,  then.  Do 
we  ever  find  that  jealousy,  hatred,  revenge — 
those  darling  bugbears  of  the  Romantic 
stage — have  been  the  motives  for  this  form 
of  action?  Seldom,  or  never.  People  in 
actual  life  commit  arson  as  a  medicine  for 


1 82  Borrowed  Plumes 

ennui,  to  make  pass  the  time;  or  else  out  of  a 
morbid  curiosity  for  noting  the  play  of  fire- 
light on  neighbouring  scenery;  motives  so 
inconspicuous  that  they  are  habitually 
ignored,  just  as  they  would  most  certainly 
be  flouted  in  those  hotbeds  of  Romanticism, 
the  theatre  and  the  law-courts. 

*  *  *  * 

Or,  again,  take  Love,  which  is  popularly 
supposed  to  be  more  common  than  arson. 
When  has  Love  ever  constituted  a  motive 
for  action?  Only  in  the  last  decade  or  so, 
under  the  influence  of  sentimental  drama. 
So  vacant,  indeed,  are  my  countrymen  of  all 
original  imagination  that  the  decadent  stage, 
masquerading  as  the  mirror  of  humanity, 
has  actually  imposed  its  own  conventions 
of  Love  upon  the  very  lives  from  which  it 
professed  to  draw  them. 

^  ^  '¥  ^ 

I  have  elsewhere  said  that  "ten  years  of 
cheap  reading  have  changed  the  English 
from  the  most  stolid  nation  in  Europe  to  the 
most  theatrical  and  hysterical."  I  would  go 
further  and  point  to  the  terrible  corruption  in 


Mr.  G.  Bernard  Shaw        183 

foreign  manners  bred  of  contact  with  British 
decadence.  Travel,  as  I  have  done,  among 
the  Latin  races,  and  mark  the  recent  changes 
in  their  demeanour.  In  rural  byways  they 
still  retain  that  decorum  of  carriage  and 
behaviour  which  comes  of  unspoiled  inter- 
course with  earth.  But  in  the  cities,  and 
even  in  those  villages  that  lie  upon  the  tour- 
ist's beaten  track,  you  will  recognise  the 
growth  of  demonstrativeness  in  their  ges- 
tures, and  of  pseudo-dramatic  methods  in 
their  deportment.  What  is  the  cause  of  this 
degeneracy  ?  They  have  become  infected  by 
the  deadly  germs  of  that  Anglomania  which 
is  also  responsible  for  their  recent  adoption 
of  manly  sports,  so-called,  and  other  intoler- 
able brutalities. 


To  recur  to  the  subject  of  accepted  con- 
ventions— what  hope  is  there  for  the  salva- 
tion of  audiences  saturated  with  artificiality  ? 
None,  though  it  were  my  own  lips  that 
essayed  to  recall  them  to  the  real.  Go  back 
to  Italy's  Venice,  after  witnessing  its 
counterfeit  in  Olympia,  and  you  will  never 


184  Borrowed  Plumes 

"  recapture  the  first  fine  careless  rapture." 
I  am,  so  to  speak,  the  original  Venice. 

*  *  *  *  , 

There  is  a  tale  told  of  certain  visitors  at 
the  court  of  a  semi-barbaric  king,  who  of- 
fered to  supply  him  with  a  nightingale,  a 
bird  of  which  hitherto  he  had  no  cognisance. 
During  a  temporary  delay  in  its  arrival  they 
sought  to  appease  the  monarch  by  producing 
an  instrument  guaranteed  to  emit  music  of 
the  same  order.  So  beglamored  was  the  king 
by  its  ravishing  melodies  that  on  the  ultimate 
appearance  of  the  actual  warbler  he  dis- 
missed the  latter  with  contumely  as  a  poor 
imitation  of  the  original.  I  am,  as  it  were, 
the  real  nightingale. 

Jji  5jC  5jC  ^ 

A  constant  and  fatal  error  with  play- 
mongers  is  to  imagine  that  there  are  themes, 
within  the  scope  of  their  intelligence,  which 
can  appeal  at  once  to  the  gilded  Semite  of 
the  Stalls  and  the  School  Board  alumni  of 
the  gallery.  I  say  they  have  no  single  senti- 
ment of  pleasure  in  common.  At  times  they 
are  bored  by  the  same  things,  but  interested 
in  the  same  things  never.     It  may  satisfy 


Mr.  G.  Bernard  Shaw        185 

Mr.  Kipling's  sense  of  the  realities  to  assert 
that  "  the  Colonel's  Lady  and  Judy 
O'Grady "  (on  the  strength)  "  are  sisters 
under  their  skins."  But,  to  take  him  on  his 
own  restricted  lines,  I  happen  myself  to  have 
made  a  study  of  armies  (see  my  Amis  and 
the  Man),  and  I  differ  from  him  fearlessly 
and  without  pity. 

^  ^  ^  ^ 

I  have  little  sympathy  for  the  writer  who 
is  lured  from  the  strait  road  of  Art  by  a 
passion  for  pedantic  consistency  in  the  gen- 
eral purposes,  if  any,  of  his  drama.  I  hesi- 
tate to  cjuote  myself  as  a  brilliant  example  of 
the  contrary  method ;  but  I  still  think  it  was 
a  happy  thought  to  put  my  most  modern 
criticisms  into  the  mouth  of  a  contemporary 
of  Octavian;  and  another,  though  not  quite 
so  happy,  to  assign  the  exposition  of  my 
best  twenty-first  century  philosophy  (for  it 
will  take  till  then  for  the  public  to  apprehend 
me)  to  a  "  Devil's  Disciple  "  of  the  eight- 
eenth. I  may  have  faults,  but  a  taste  for 
academic  purity  is  not  one  of  them. 
*  *  *  * 

Nor    do    I    pretend    to    say    beforehand 


1 86  Borrowed  Plumes 

whether  any  given  play  of  mine  is  intended 
for  a  tragedy  or  a  farce.  I  choose  to  leave 
this  matter  to  the  audience  to  decide,  having 
a  rooted  belief  in  the  subjective  plasticity  of 
all  great  work.  I  have  known  my  senti- 
ments elicit  laughter  when  I  had  privately 
anticipated  tears;  and  I  have  seen  the  house 
divided,  pit  from  stalls,  as  to  which  of  these 
two  receptions  should  be  accorded  to  a 
speech  of  which  the  intention  was  equally 
ambiguous  to  myself.  In  the  game  of  jx)ker, 
as  I  am  given  to  believe,  the  most  accom- 
plished artists  are  those  who  play  without 
any  settled  principles  of  their  own,  thus  per- 
mitting their  motives  to  escape  observation. 
Misunderstand  yourself,  if  you  would  make 
doubly  sure  of  a  position  as  one  of  the  Great 
Misunderstood. 

^  :!;  sjs  5JC 

I  merit,  of  course,  the  abuse  of  the  critics, 
who  find  themselves  at  a  loss  to  arrange  their 
labels  on  accepted  lines;  and  the  public  is 
inclined  to  grow  captious  through  inability 
to  confirm  their  suspicions  of  an  underlying 
sense  in  my  plays;  but,  without  some  guar- 
antee of  popular  disfavour,  one  trembles  to 


Mr.  G.  Bernard  Shaw         187 

imagine  what  would  become  of  one's  hesita- 
ting self-esteem. 


To  the  great  Artist  there  is  always  some- 
thing inebriative  in  unsuccess;  and  though 
there  may  be  danger  of  over-exultation  in- 
duced by  a  run  of  splendid  failures,  it  is 
better  to  perish  this  way  than  to  die,  as  some 
successful  authors  have  died,  of  a  fatty  de- 
generation of  the  brain. 

*  *  *  * 

In  conclusion  I  would  join  issue  with 
those  rash  intellects  that  have  assigned  to 
me,  thus  early,  a  permanent  seat  among  the 
Immortals.  Admitted  that  I  have  the  ad- 
vantage of  Sophocles  and  Goethe  in  enjoying 
a  wider  range  of  vision,  I  am  very  little,  if  at 
all,  their  superior  in  point  of  actual  genius. 
But  in  my  own  case,  as  in  theirs,  I  protest 
against  the  indefinite  survival  of  reputations. 
The  ages  should  always  advance  from  great 
to  greater,  as  their  purview  of  humanity 
largens.  And  if  this  little  collection  of 
homilies  should  avail  to  check  that  tendency 
to  Cock-Shawolatry  which  threatens,  among 


1 88  Borrowed  Plumes 

the  chosen  few,  to  perpetuate  my  claims  as 
an  Authority,  neither  I  nor  my  readers  will 
rightly  grudge  the  pains  we  shall  severally 
have  expended  upon  this  result. 


XVII. 

MR.  STEPHEN  PHILLIPS. 
[Ou  the  Fro  duct  to  ft  of  "  Herod.'"'] 

How  like  a  timorous  sloth  of  tender  years 

My  reputation  hangs  upon  a  Tree ! 

Bravely  it  bears  my  weight ;  and  yet  the  blood 

Sings  in  my  brain,  not  altogether  used 

To  being  upside-down. 

I  seem  to  hear 
The  strain  of  all  the  heart-strings  in  the  stalls 
And  all  the  public  breathing  in  the  pit ! 
Now  is  the  climax  when  the  author's  pulse 
Is  at  its  hottest ;  now  the  crucial  scene, 
When  everything  is  blank,  besides  the  verse, 
And  either  Herod  or  myself  goes  mad  ! 

{Later^ 
We  stand  together  wreathed  in  wedded  smiles  ; 
I  never  thought  a  Tree  could  spread   such  bows. 
*  *  *  *  ^ 

\0n  Australian  Federation^ 

I  heard  a  Cherub  sitting  up  aloft 
Cry  :   "  She  shall  build  a  mighty  M^tropole 
189 


190  Borrowed  Plumes 

Almost  at  once  ;  and  in  its  port  shall  swim 
The  Universal  Sailor  girt  with  sharks  ; 
And  bastioned  forts  shall  beetle  over  that 

Locality  where comes  to  birth." 

(This  space  is  left  for  the  New  City's  name, 
A  vexed  and  indeterminate  question  ;  I 
Will  pay  a  topaz  for  the  Missing  Word.) 

\_Murmurs  of  satisfactio7i. 
There  shall  the  kangaroo  bound  at  his  ease, 
And  there  the  Federated  Lands  shall  build 
(Australia  !  do  you  notice  this  remark  ?) 
A  Stock  Exchange,  where  Ophir  and  the  East 
Shall    vie   for    options ;    with    whose    hoarded 

wealth 
The  fabled  pearls  of  Solomon,  deceased. 
Shall  relatively  rank  as  pumpkin-pips  ! 
There  the  Coagulated  Parliament, 
Incurious  of  cost,  shall  house  itself 
In  walls  barbarically  fine  and  large, 
Shaped  to  discapitol  that  ancient  Arx, 
The  tutelary  haunt  of  Roman  geese ! 

One  night  I  dreamed  (Australia  1  please  attend) 
About  this  Chamber,  how  its  dome  should  shine 
With  burnished  nuggets   drawn  from  neighbour- 
ing deeps. 
Great  Boulder's  ore,  and  ooze  of  Ivanhoe, 
To  be  an  educative  object-lesson 


Mr.  Stephen  Phillips         191 

To  the  great  L.  C.  C.'s  artificers 

Absorbed  in  wedding  Holborn  with  the  Strand. 

Only  a  few  more  words  and  I  have  done. 

^Repressed  applause. 
There  shall  the  Sun  replace  his  blighted  beams, 
And  there  about  a  new  Endymion's  neck 
Pale  Artemis  shall  arch  her  ambient  arms. 
Before  the  glamour  of  its  aureate  rays 
The  scalp-compelling  South-Sea  islanders 
Shall  veil  their  tomahawks ;  and  it  shall  be 
A  joy  to  earnest  heliographists, 
And   warm  the   chattering  spooks  of    Diemen's 

Land. 
There    shall   the    wide-world    wombat    flap   his 

wings, 
And  there,  itself  a  prey  to  fascination, 
The  boa-constrictor,  stealing  up  to  town, 
Shall  ask  the  rabbit  what  the  deuce  it  means. 


XVIII. 
MR.  HENRY  SETON  MERRIMAN. 

"  I  WANT  a  new  place  to  be  a  hero  in!  " 
The  speaker  ended,  as  he  began,  abruptly. 
Silence  is  golden,  but  the  next  best  thing  is 
that  your  words  should  be  fit  and  few.  He 
was  a  strong  man,  but  his  eye  had  the  quiet 
reserve  that  may  sometimes  be  found  with 
strength,  a  combination  always  attractive. 
There  were  lines,  too,  about  his  mouth  that 
revealed  a  capacity  for  pathos  as  well  as 
humour. 

None  of  these  characteristics,  except  per- 
haps his  strength  (a  dangerous  thing  if 
allied  to  madness),  imposed  itself  upon  the 
observation  of  the  young  man  whom  he  ad- 
dressed— a  clerk  in  the  office  of  Messrs. 
Gaze,  Catchem  and  Cook. 

"Is  it  a  holiday  tour  you  want?"  he 
asked,  tentatively. 

192 


Mr.  Henry  Seton  Merriman      193 

"  Mention  a   few   novelties,"   replied   the 
strong,  quiet  man. 

"  We  are  booking  a  good  deal   for  the 
interior  of  Turkey,"  said  the  clerk. 

"  Fought  at  Plevna,"  replied  the  strong, 
quiet  man. 

"  Then  we  have  the  Steppes  of  Russia  on 
our  new  list." 

"  Sbogoni — Lord  love  you  !     Sowed  wild 
oats  there  years  ago." 

"  Or  a  little  round  in  Spain  or  Holland, 
personally  conducted  ?  " 

'' Quien  sahef    Hoe  laat  is  hetf    Speak 
the  languages." 

"  Or  say  West  Africa,  perhaps?    We  are 
fitting  out  a  small  punitive  expedition." 

"  Played  with  Edged  Tools  there  in  my 
youth." 

"  Or  Patagonia  ?     The  very  latest  thing 
in  explorations !  " 

"  Ah !    I  have  never  been  a  hero  there. 
Any     other     heroes     pioneering     in     those 
parts?" 

"  Only  one  that  I  know  of,  and  he's  just 
back  from  tracking  the  Big  Sloth." 


13 


194  Borrowed  Plumes 

"  Sloth  is  a  great  impediment  to  enter- 
prise." 

"  I  said  the  Big  Sloth." 

"  That  makes  it  no  better.  Quantity  is 
no  excuse  for  bad  quality.  But,  tell  me,  are 
the  natives  of  Patagonia  good  and  beauti- 
ful?" 

"  We  have  no  reports  to  the  contrary," 
said  the  clerk. 

"  A  noble  wife  is  a  gift  of  the  gods,"  said 
the  strong,  quiet  man,  absent-mindedly. 
Then,  recovering  himself,  he  added,  "  I  will 
trouble  you  for  a  Tierra  del  Fuego  Conver- 
sation Guide.  Mille  remerciinents!  Leh' 
wohl.    Hasta  manana.     Che  sard  sard." 


XIX. 

MR.  ANDREW  LANG. 

[In  one  of  his  many  collaborations,  this  time 
zvith  Ouida.'\ 

It  is  a  commonplace  of  your  anthropo- 
logist that  the  symptoms  of  heredity  are 
more  marked  in  early  Spring.  In  the  case 
of  young  Bamborough,  a  strain  of  the  old 
Jacobite  stock  of  Northumberland  which 
stood  for  the  "  King "  at  Preston  always 
announced  itself  with  a  certain  exigency 
about  the  close  of  Lent.  It  was  apparent 
not  so  much  in  an  attitude  of  direct  opposi- 
tion to  the  House  of  Hanover  as  in  a  general 
restlessness  under  authority,  a  penchant  for 
rising  to  occasions.  Had  Oxford  known 
him  in  the  '15,  when  Ormond  failed  to  rouse 
Devon,  he  would  probably  have  risked  his 
head  in  the  North  with  Mar  and  Derwent- 
water  and  the  boy  Radcliffe.  As  it  was,  he 
19s 


196  Borrowed  Plumes 

was  merely  gated  by  his  Dean  for  cutting 
chapel.  [Here  Ouida  takes  up  the  work. 

Sitting  in  his  tapestried  chambers  after 
College  Mess,  his  oak  was  suddenly  un- 
sported,  and  in  burst  the  Hon.  Bobbie  Lack- 
land in  a  gold  and  purple  dressmg-gown. 
"  Just  had  a  wire  from  Mortlake,  old  boy," 
he  cried,  slapping  Bamborough  on  the  chest. 
"  No.  I  in  the  boat  has  wrung  his  withers, 
and  they  want  you  to  stroke  Oxford  in  the 
race  to-morrow." 

"When  do  they  start?"  asked  Bambor- 
ough, wearily. 

"  Eleven  sharp,  against  the  ebb,"  replied 
Lackland. 

"  As  you  please,  then,"  said  Bamborough, 
with  a  yawn.  "  I  have  a  wine  here  to-night; 
but  I  can  run  up  to  town  in  the  tandem  about 
daybreak,  instead  of  turning  in.  Suppose 
a  tenner  would  see  the  porter  ?  Have  a  cigar 
or  two."  [Here  Mr.  Lang  resumes. 

The  reader  will  draw  his  own  conclusions 
from  the  data  here  submitted.  I,  for  one, 
shall  not  be  hurt  if  he  traces  in  the  methods 
of  these  young  gentlemen  an  inherent  lack  of 
probability. 


XX. 

MR.  GEORGE  MOORE. 

Rebecca  Gins  walked  down  the  lane  put- 
ting her  feet  forward  alternately.  There 
were  hedges  on  both  sides;  one  on  the  left, 
one  on  the  right.  The  young  leaves  were  a 
pale  green.  Overhead  ran  the  telegraph- 
wires.  The  poles  were  about  thirty-five  yards 
apart.  A  thrush  sat  on  a  spray  of  black- 
thorn, which  moved  under  its  weight,  now 
down,  now  up.  Rain  had  fallen  and  the 
ground  was  wet,  especially  in  the  ruts.  The 
second-hand  feather  in  Rebecca's  hat 
drooped  a  little  over  her  left  ear;  and  the 
third  button  of  her  off  boot  was  wanting. 
Smoke  went  up  from  the  chimneys,  taking 
the  direction  of  the  wind.  All  these  essential 
details  (including  the  feather,  which  was  out 
of  sight)  escaped  Rebecca's  notice.  She  was 
197 


198  Borrowed  Plumes 

not  gifted  with  that  grasp  of  actuality  which 
is  the  sign  of  an  artistic  nature. 


My  Dear  Yeats^ — You,  who  have  taught 
me  what  Poetry  means,  in  the  original  Fe- 
nian (I  had  already,  at  different  epochs  of  my 
career,  been  introduced  to  Music  and  the 
Fine  Arts,  and  pursued  my  investigation  of 
these  branches  of  culture  without  prejudice 
or  pedantry,  fascinated  always  by  the  charm 
of  novelty  and  the  delight  of  breaking  virgin 
soil),  you  and  I  will  offer  welcome  and  the 
homage  of  hearts  to  the  noble  victim  of  that 
Tyrant  w'hose  foot  is  on  the  neck  of  our 
distressful  Erin.  We  w'ill  cross  by  the 
Ostend  Packet.  It  will  start  from  Dover, 
either  from  the  east  or  the  w-est  side  of  the 
pier,  according  to  the  state  of  the  wind  and 
tide.  We  will  have  deck-chairs,  made  pos- 
sibly of  wicker,  and  at  any  rate  of  wood  and 
canvas.  I  shall  sit  with  my  back  to  the 
engines,  watching  the  gulls  flying  with  white 
wings  in  our  wake.  When  you  throw  a  bun 
to  them  they  dip  their  bills  in  the  foam  to 
secure  it.    I  have  often  observed  this  detail, 


Mr.  George  Moore  199 

and  drawn  the  attention  of  careless  people  to 
it.  Life  is  full  of  phenomena,  all  equally 
valuable,  from  a  pimple  to  a  sunset.  And  you 
will  croon  a  Song  cf  the  Secret  Pomegran- 
ate, and  I  will  set  it  to  music  on  the  deck. 
Have  you  noticed  how  the  planks  of  a  ship's 
deck-timber  run  parallel  to  one  another,  like 
the  lines  of  a  musical  score  before  you  fill 
in  the  notes?  And  when  we  arrive  we  will 
embrace  the  Champion  of  Freedom,  and  you 
will  recite  something  to  him,  in  ancient  Erse 
verse,  about  me  and  the  Irish  revival;  and 
the  general  idea  will  be  as  follows : — 

By  the  lustrous  waves  of  Liffey,  by  the  ledge  of 
Cuddy  Reeks, 
By  the  Lough  of  White-foot  Deirdre,  by  the 
Blasted  Hill  of  Shee, 
By  the  Headland  of  the  Daughters  of  the  Snipe 
with  Seven  Beaks, 
I  have  carolled  in  the  Gaelic,  I  have  whispered 
Erse  to  thee, 
O 'Moore,  the  terror  of  Saxon  Tyrants  ! 

Where  the  levin  split  asunder  Dermott's  bog  at 
dead  of  morn, 
Where  the  ozier-wattled  heifer  left  her  tail  in 
Eogan's  stall, 


200  Borrowed  Plumes 

Where  O'Brien  shed  his  Breeches,  we  have  met 
and  we  have  sworn 
We  would   crown  the   crest  of  Kruger  in  the 
old  Rotunda  hall, 
I  and  O 'Moore,  the  terror  of  Tyrants  ! 

Since  St.  Patrick  coursed  for  vermin  on  the  Dun 
of  Druid's  Doom, 
When  the   Sleuth  Hound   felled  the  banshee 
in  the  rift  of  Bleeding  Gorge ; 
Since   the    High-King    up    in    Tara    heard    the 
beetle's  dying  boom, 
There    has  never,  to    my  knowledge,  been  a 
genius  like  George 
O'Moore,  the  terror  of  Saxon  Tyrants  ! 


XXI. 

MRS.  MEYNELL. 

Detached  in  his  equilibrium,  the  Young 
Child  is  instinct  with  the  ichor  of  Spring". 
He  flushes  a  rhythmic  pink,  the  implicit 
Colour  of  Life. 

*  *  *  * 

The  vital  movement  of  grass  is  tov^ard 
reticence  rather  than  greenness.  By  the 
highways  you  shall  see  its  embroidery,  a 
mute  protest  to  shame  the  scarlet  resonance 
of  the  pillar-box.  That  is  why  the  vestries 
will  not  have  it  so. 

*  *  *  ■* 

To  the  glazed  eye,  dull  with  yearlong 
routine,  Yarmouth  brings  relief  with  the 
bronze  of  her  kippers.  On  your  seaward 
breakfast-table  they  lie,  a  point  of  diurnal 
pungency ;  eloquent,  too,  of  suggestion.  Salt, 
that  was  the  breath  of  their  life,  is  the  stuff 


202  Borrowed  Plumes 

of  their  embalming.  Not  here,  in  the  trite 
phrase,  was  death  the  cure  of  ill,  save  for  a 
brief  interspace.  Then  that  which  gave  its 
savour  to  existence  was  itself  made  the  cure 
of  death,  last  ill  of  all. 

That  is  why  Yarmouth,  for  all  its  pier  and 
sable  minstrelsy,  is  still  the  inviolable  hermi- 
tage of  tired  hearts.  Its  salt  is  something 
better  than  Attic.  It  breathes,  as  Athens 
never  wholly  breathed  in  her  prime,  the  con- 
tinuity of  existence.  It  is  vocal  with  the 
rhythm  of  death  cured  and  corrected. 

>fi  5jC  5;C  JjC 

Khaki  has  the  colour  of  secretiveness ;  but 
the  robin  wears  a  cuirass  that  recalls  the 
published  blood.  Yet  is  there  also  a  privacy 
of  the  woods,  where  the  bird  takes  on  the 
tone  of  his  environment.  The  ancients  felt 
this  when  they  discovered  a  note  of  khaki  in 
the  flutings  of  Philomel. 

*  *  *  * 

Seen  in  perspective  there  is  symmetry  even 
in  the  suburb,  futile  else.  Peckham  has  this 
dominant  note. 


XXII. 
MR.  WILLIAM  WATSON. 

On  New  Year's  Day. 

Potential  in  the  marble's  maiden  womb, 
The  Uving  forms  of  Buonarotti  lay  ; 

So  in  the  New  Year's  Alpha  dimly  loom 
The  orb'd  infinitudes  of  Omega  1 

On  the  Anniversary  of  the  Opening  of  the  British 
Museum. 

Avid  of  knowledge,  you  that  blindly  rage 

After  the  Undiscoverable  Clue, 
Walk  up  and  see  yon  antic  sarcophage ; 

Its  rusty  mummy  was  as  wise  as  you  1 

Oji  the  Modern  Woman. 

New  Atalantas,  straining  fast  and  far. 

How  shall  the  old  Milanions  hope  to  beat  ? 

On  what  incalculable  motor-car 

Follow  the  trailing  thunders  of  their  feet  ? 
203 


204  Borrowed  Plumes 

On  hearing  that  the  following  letter  had  bee?i  ad- 
dressed to  the  Rev.  /oh?i  Watson  ( Ian 
Maclaren)  : — "  Ho7ioured  Sir,  77te  and  my 
fa?nily  wishes  to  let  you  kfww  that  our  souls 
have  been  wonderful  refreshed  and  elevated 
by  your  noble  pome,  '  Abdul  the  D d.^  " 

Great  Muse  !  and  can  it  be  this  godless  isle 

Breeds  any  so  impervious  of  pelt 
That    they  confound    my   chaste   and   Greekish 
style 

With  kailyard  cackle  of  the  so-called  Kelt  ? 

On  a  Rooster,  shot  in  mistake  for  a  Cockpheasant. 

Count  no  man  monk  because  he  wears  a  cowl ! 

Had    I    but  closelier  looked  thou  hadst   not 
passed ! 
I  took  thee  for  thy  better,  tumid  fowl  I 

And  there  thou  liest,  irrevocably  grassed  1 


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THE   GADFLY 

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Studies   in   Literature.      By   Edward   Dovvqen. 

^         341  pp.      8vo.     $2.00  net. 

"  He  has  something  to  say  and  says  it  with  clearness. 
.  .  .  Notably  lucid  and  instructive.  .  .  .  Not  without  the 
more  vivacious  quality  which  comes  from  a  sympathetic 
handling  of  personal  traits." — iV.    V.   Tribune. 

"  A  notable  series  of  appreciations  bound  together  by  a 
vital  unity  of  subject  and  interest.  .  .  .  The  work  as  a 
whole  is  as  full  of  ripe  judgment  as  it  is  of  sound  learning; 
and  it  is  pervaded  withal  by  a  vivid  personal  enthusiasm 
"vhich  makes  it  delightful  reading." — Nation. 

"  His  new  book  is  important.  .  .  .  One  may  find  therein 
the  formative  influences  of  early  American  literature." — 
Times  Saturday  Review. 

"  The  latest  volume  has  all  the  unity,  clearness,  and 
sympathy  of  his  former  admirable  Shakespearian  studies. 
.  .  •  As  detecting  and  expounding  the  deep  and  vital 
forces  at  work  behind  a  literature  of  a  given  period,  as 
pointing  out  salient  points  of  resemblance  as  well  as  of 
difference  between  these  forces,  and  as  giving  a  moral  and 
showing  the  tendency  of  the  thought  of  that  period,  Prof. 
Dowden's  forte  is  in  freest  play," — N.  V,  Commercial. 

SELECTIONS     FROM    DANTE'S    DIVINA    COM- 
MEDIA 

Chosen,  Translated,  and  Annotated  by  Richard 
James  Cross.  The  original  and  translation  on  oppo- 
site pages.  Bound  in  Florentine  style.  225  pp. 
i6mo.     $2.00.  , 

"The  work  has  been  executed  by  both  translator  and 
publisher  with  a  taste  and  skill  which  justify  the  under- 
taking. The  translations  are  in  prose  and  adhere  very 
closely  to  the  original.  While  discarding  all  the  adorn- 
ments which  a  metrical  version  might  permit,  and  depend- 
ing solely  upon  the  interest  and  import  of  Dante's  thought, 
he  has  at  the  same  time  succeeded  in  keeping  much  of  the 
spirit  of  the  poem." — Nation. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  volume  to  the  eye.  The  translator's 
sympathy  with  Dante,  his  elective  taste,  and  his  sense  of 
rhythm  in  prose  make  his  studies  in  the  interpretation  of 
the  great  Italian  poet  interesting  and  in  the  main  accept- 
able. Mr.  Cross's  version  is  smooth,  lucid,  and  luminous." 
— Literary  World. 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.      ^^  ^^^^-^^rl*"""* 

VI  '01 


3d  Impression. 

WELLS'  HIS   LORDSHIP'S   LEOPARD 

A  Truthful  narration  of  Some  Impossible  Facts.  By 

David  Dwight  Wells.     lamo.     $1.50. 

A  lively  English  novelist,  visiting  Nevir  York,  is  sus- 
pected of  being  in  league  with  the  Spanish,  and  escapes 
from  the  city  witn  a  police  wagon  and  strange  com- 
panions, including  the  "  Leopard."  The  startling 
adventures  that  foilow  carry  them  into  Canada  and 
England,  where  the  end  is  finally  reached  at  "  His  Lord- 
ship's" palace.  Tn.s  s'ory  is  even  more  full  of  comic 
episode  than  Her  L^^ay^nip' s  Elephant. 
Chicago  Times-Herald :  "  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  it." 
N.  y.  Herald:  "David  Dwight  Wells  is  a  master  of  what  for 
lack  of  a  better  term  might  be  called  the  'nonsense  novel.'  He 
admirably  preserves  that  air  of  seriousness  which  emphasizes  the 
fun  of  this  carefully  planned  absurdity,  well-nigh  as  perfect  in  its 
way  as  the  'Alice'  books — those  exquisite  masterpieces  of  topsy- 
turvy art." 

Cleveland  Plain  Denier :  "Just  what  might  be  expected  of  the 
author  of  'Her  Ladyship's  Elephant.'  .  .  .  Very  good  fooling." 

Cincinnati  Times-Star. :  "Any  one  who  enjoys  a  good  laugh 
should  read  '  His  Lordship's  Leopard  '  by  David  Dwight  Wells.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Wells  defies  criticism,  but  he  need  not  fear  it.  Any  critic  who 
does  not  enjoy  his  book  is  unworthy  of  the  name.  ...  I  most 
assuredly  felt  sorry  when  the  end  was  reached,  and  regret  that  Mr. 
Wells  should  have  felt  that  any  end  was  necessary." 

loth  Impression 

WELLS'  HER  LADYSHIP'S  ELEPHANT 

By  David  Dwight  Wklls.     izmo.     $1.25. 

A  very  humorous  story,  dealing  with  English  society, 
growing  out  of  certain  experiences  of  the  author  while 
a  member  of  our  Embassy  in  London.  The  elephant's 
experiences,  also,  are  based  on  facts. 
The  Nation:  "He  is  probably  funny  because  he  cannot 
help  it." 

Nezu   i'ork   Tribune:   "Mr.  Wells   allows   his   sense  of 

humor  to  play  about  the  personalities  of  half  a  dozen  men 

and  women  whose   lives,  for   a   few  brief,   extraordinary 

days,   are   inextricably  intertwined   with   the    life   of    the 

aforesaid  monarch  of  the  jungle.  .  .  .  Smacks  of  fun  which 

can  be  created  by  clever  actors  placed  in  excruciatingly 

droll  situations." 

New  York  Commercial  Advertiser  :    "  A  really  delicious  chain  of 

absurdities  which   are    based    upon    American    independence    and 

impudence  ;  .  .  .  exceedingly   amusing." 

Buffalo  Express :   "So   amusing   is   tlie   book  that  the   reader   is 
aimost  too  tired  to  laugh  when  the  elephant  puts  in  his  appearance." 
Chicago  Tribune:  "  The  courting  customs  of  England  and  Amer- 
ica are   hit  off  in  a  most  happy  vein,  with  great  good  humor.  .  .  . 
The  author  employs  his  powers  of  invention  with  excellent  effect." 


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